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CLASSIC   MYTH   AND 
LEGEND 


fc' 


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PERSEUS  AND  ANDROMEDA 
From  the  painting  by  Lord  LeigAton,  P.R.A.y  in  the  Walker  2lrt  Gallery y  Liverpool 


CLASSIC    MYTH 
AND    LEGEND 

BY 

A.   R.  HOPE    MONCRIEFF 


WITH  PREFACE  BY 

W.  H.   D.  ROUSE 

Litt.D.,  M.A..  F.R.G.S.,  M.R.A.S. 


PVith  Illustrations  in  Colour  and  in  d^onochrome 
from  Famous  Taintings  and  Statuary 


BLACKIE  &  SON  LIMITED 

LONDON   AND   GLASGOW 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  Blackie  &  Son.  Ltd.,  Glasgow 


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PREFACE 

By  Dr.  W.  H.  D.  ROUSE 


Ascott  Hope  was  a  name  of  joy  to  the  schoolboys  of 
sixty  years  ago.  They  recognized  in  his  stories  their  own 
jolly  lives,  and  saw  the  same  happy  young  scamps  who 
were  all  round  them,  punching  each  other's  heads,  and 
shirking  their  work  if  they  could,  and  triumphantly 
hoodwinking  their  masters,  and  having  a  good  time. 
That  was  before  the  psychological  problems  came  in,  and 
unwholesome  schoolboys,  half  grown  up,  began  to  spin 
their  elaborate  webs  over  the  scene.  Schoolboys  are 
really  just  the  same  as  they  were,  as  natural  and  as  whole- 
some, and  that  is  the  one  hope  of  the  world.  Only  one 
new  discovery  has  been  made,  but  that  is  a  great  one: 
the  discovery  that  boys  are  just  as  much  interested  in  their 
intellectual  work  as  in  their  games,  if  only  they  are  given 
a  chance,  if  they  are  taught  with  common  sense  instead 
of  being  bullied.  That  has  not  come  into  school  stories 
yet,  but  perhaps  it  may  take  the  place  of  those  dreary 
problems  one  day,  and  a  new  Ascott  Hope  may  appear. 

The  addition  of  a  surname  to  Ascott  Hope  is  not  an 
improvement,  from  the  old  boy's  point  of  view,  any  more 
than  it  is  to  our  delightful  friend  "  F.  Anstey  ";  but  if 
the  reader  can  forgive  that,  he  will  find  a  new  sort  of 
Ascott  Hope  in  this  book.   The  stories  of  the  Greek  gods 

V 


vi  PREFACE 

and  heroes  are  immortal.  They  are  as  fascinating  as  a 
fairy-tale,  and  many  are  as  beautiful  as  the  world  of 
nature;  they  are  listened  to  with  welcoming  attention  by 
children  of  all  ages  and  of  all  sorts,  even  by  those  who 
have  small  education  and  few  social  amenities  at  home,  so 
long  as  they  are  simply  put.  Only  the  odd  names  give 
them  pause;  and  they  soon  become  used  to  these  if 
there  are  not  too  many  at  a  time.  Indeed,  the  Greek 
stories  have  much  in  common  with  the  schoolboy.  How 
many  would  like  to  give  a  dose  of  medicine  to  some  master, 
as  Rhea  and  Zeus  did  to  Cronos!  What  fine  fights  Her- 
acles and  Theseus  pulled  off!  What  a  clever  dog  Odysseus 
was,  and  how  he  scored  off  Goggle-eye  the  Cyclops! 
And  have  no  fear  that  the  boys  will  miss  the  fine  things. 
They  may  not  go  as  deep  into  them  as  you  do,  but  they 
see  them  clearly  enough. 

These  listeners  care  nothing  at  all  for  the  origins  of 
mythology.  The  Sun  Myth,  the  Tree  Cults,  Totemism 
and  Matriarchy  are  simply  words  to  them.  Ascott 
Hope's  Introduction  is  not  meant  for  them,  but  for  their 
elders,  a  more  sophisticated  class.  These  topics  have 
their  interest,  but  it  is  surprising  to  consider  how  soon 
they  fade  away.  Some  are  quite  dead  already,  and  all 
are  reduced  now  to  an  insignificant  place  beside  the 
stories  themselves.  One  topic,  however,  deserves  more 
than  a  passing  mention,  for  a  great  change  has  come 
since  this  book  was  written :   the  question  of  Homer. 

Who  wrote  "  Homer  ".?  The  ancients  naturally  said, 
Homer,  although  there  were  some  who  thought  there 
were  two  Homers,  one  who  wrote  the  Iliad^  and  one  the 
Odyssey,  The  world  continued  to  think  of  Homer  as 
one,   until   in    1795    Wolf  published   his   Prolegomena, 


PREFACE  vii 

There  he  suggested  that  the  two  works  were  a  collection 
of  separate  poems,  handed  down  by  oral  tradition,  chang- 
ing and  growing  as  they  went,  which  were  afterwards 
collected  and  combined  and  written  down.  He  was  not 
the  first  to  suggest  this,  but  his  book  was  the  beginning 
of  a  huge  library  of  works  on  the  same  lines.  The  criticism 
of  Homer  became  a  laborious  analysis  of  words  and  forms, 
and  no  one  could  see  the  landscape  for  the  weeds.  I 
was  brought  up  to  believe  that  there  were  at  least  three 
Homers,  three  men  of  great  genius  instead  of  one; 
and  that  was  a  very  moderate  estimate.  The  critics  judged 
like  Geddes  by  **  local  mintmarks "  and  touches  of 
thought,  or  like  others,  from  the  digamma,  rhythms, 
dialect,  and  so  forth.  They  dated  the  various  books  by 
these,  but  almost  the  only  thing  they  all  agreed  upon 
was  that  the  first  book  of  the  Iliad  belonged  to  the  oldest 
stratum.  Then  came  Miss  F.  M.  Stawell,  who  used  the 
same  evidence,  and  proved  that  the  first  book  of  the 
Iliad  belonged  to  the  latest  stratum.  That  was  the  last 
straw  for  me;  I  discerned  that  this  kind  of  argument 
could  not  mean  much.  But  what  really  convinced  me 
was  that  I  read  through  both  poems  aloud,  in  Greek, 
with  my  class,  several  times,  and  their  unity  became  quite 
clear.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  when  Wolf  finished 
his  book,  he  read  the  poems  again,  and  his  own  argu- 
ments vanished  from  his  mind;  "  the  pervading  harmony 
and  consistency  of  the  poems  assert  themselves  with 
irresistible  power;  and  he  is  angry  with  the  scepticism 
which  has  robbed  him  of  his  belief  in  one  Homer  ".* 
All  the  while  Andrew  Langf  had  been  firm  in  his  faith, 

*  Sandy's  History  of  Classical  Scholarship,  III,  56. 

t  Andrew  Lang:  Homer  and  His  Life-,  The  World  of  Homer, 


viii  PREFACE 

resting  upon  the  literary  evidence;  and  in  the  last  genera- 
tion scholars  have  been  coming  round  to  the  old  tradition, 
not  only  in  England  but  in  Germany.  So  we  may  hope 
that  the  Wolfian  heresy,  after  a  hundred  years  of  vogue, 
has  gone  to  the  dust-heap  at  last. 

The  text  of  this  book  has  not  been  altered.  Readers 
must  use  their  own  judgment  of  the  questions  raised 
about  them,  for  there  is  a  good  deal  of  discussion  of  the 
stories  given  besides  the  stories  themselves.  But  the 
stories  are  here,  and  that  is  the  great  thing ;  and  where  it 
is  possible,  they  are  told  in  the  way  of  the  old  tellers, 
after  Homer,  the  Hymns,  Ovid  and  other  literary  sources. 
There  is  only  one  general  caution  which  must  be  given. 
To  the  Greek,  these  stories  were  all  part  of  one  whole, 
a  history  of  the  world  with  its  parts  in  close  connexion. 
Some  of  the  connecting  links  are  given,  but  they  all 
exist,  and  the  simplest  way  for  a  reader  to  find  them  out 
is  to  follow  up  the  genealogies.  These  can  be  found  in 
Hesiod;   and  Apollodorus  is  also  a  great  help. 


AUTHOR'S    ORIGINAL    PREFACE 


This  volume  deals  with  the  famous  legendary  fictions  of  Ancient 
Greece,  that  have  furnished  so  many  themes  and  allusions  to  modern 
authors.  The  origin  of  those  stories  and  the  nature  of  their  mytho- 
logical or  dubiously  historical  personages  are  dealt  with  in  an 
Introduction  which,  it  is  hoped,  will  not  too  much  try  the  reader's 
patience.  The  stories  themselves  are  presented  in  simple  outline, 
illustrated  here  and  there  by  purple  passages  from  our  own  poets; 
and,  at  the  end,  it  has  seemed  best  to  give  a  few  legends  in  the 
shape  of  the  noble  verse  that  has  embalmed  them  for  us. 

One  difficulty  requires  to  be  got  over  by  way  of  compromise. 
In  our  time  the  tendency  is  to  return  to  the  Greek  names  of  gods 
and  heroes  who  came  to  be  better  known  under  a  Latinized  dis- 
guise during  the  dark  ages  that  copied  the  literature  of  Rome 
while  neglecting  that  of  Greece.  As  a  rule,  then,  transliterated 
Greek  names  have  been  used;  yet  in  some  cases  those  characters 
are  so  familiar  in  another  spelling,  that  it  seems  pedantry  to  call 
Hercules  Heracles^  and  Pollux  Polydeuces,  or  wholly  to  proscribe  such 
current  names  as  Bacchus  and  Cupid.  If  it  comes  to  that,  we  must 
remember  that  the  Hellenes  knew  themselves  as  Greeks  no  more 
than  the  Germans  accept  our  alias  for  their  Deutsch  nationality. 
Not  a  few  classic  names,  indeed,  have  become  so  well  naturalized 
among  us  that  we  talk  glibly  enough  of  tantalizingy  of  a  rhada- 
manthine  judgment,  of  bacchanalian  revels,  of  herculean  labours, 
as  of  sons  of  Mars  and  smiles  of  Venus.  Yet  classic  names  and 
attributes  are  sometimes  handled  with  more  confidence  than  dis- 
crimination:   it  is  not  unusual,  for  instance,  to  catch  hasty  jour- 

(0288)  is  2 


n 


X  AUTHOR'S  ORIGINAL  PREFACE 

nalists  pouring  scorn  upon  the  "  Cassandras  "  of  the  opposite  party, 
in  manifest  ignorance  how  poor  Cassandra's  prophecies  came  too 
true,  to  the  undoing  of  those  who  would  not  mind  them. 

"  Naught  so  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale  ",  remarked  one 
eminent  hero  of  ancient  fiction;  but  these  stories,  though  so  often 
told,  in  such  varied  forms,  may  still  bear  retelling  for  readers  un- 
acquainted with  the  original  versions. 


CONTENTS 


Introduction—  Page 

The  Growth  of  Myths  .-.>....       i 

Theogony  and  Cosmogony  •--••»  14 
The  Pantheon  --.--.^,  -.-28 
Demigods  and  Heroes  -------56 

Phaethon        -••-.-..••60 

PifRSEUS 

I.  The  Gorgon  --.«-•--     74; 

II.  Andromeda  --------80 

III.  The  Minister  of  Doom  -        .         -        -        -        «     g^ 

Arachne  --  .-.-•»>     87 

Meleager  AMD  Atalanta— 

I.  The  Boar  Hunt     -•-••.         -^ 
II.  Atalanta's  Race      ••••..^g^ 

Hercules — 

I.  His  Youth   -  .  •  ..  •  .  .98 

II.  His  Labours  •  •  •        •  •  .  -lo: 

III.  His  Death    -  .  -  .        -  .  -  -U3 

AlCESTIS  -  -  -  .  .  «  ..  -  -118 

Pygmalion  and  Galatea  •  •  •  •  •  -121 

The  Rape  of  Persephone  -  •  •  -  -  -123 

Orpheus  and  Eurydice   •>  -  •  -  •  -  -  127 

Midas    -        -        .-        -  •  -  •  •  •  -132 

Scylla   -••--..•..  136 

xi 


xii  CONTENTS 

Page 

Bellerophon  -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -  139 

Arion     ----••--.--  i^ 

The  Argonauts — 

I.  Jason's  Youth        -         -         -         -         -         -         -147 

II.  The  Voyage  to  Colchis  -         -         -         -         -        -I54 

III.  The  Winning  of  the  Fleece     -         -        -        -         -158 

IV.  Medea  -----•.>  165 

Pyramus  and  Thisbe       -        -        -        -        -        -        -169 

Ion         ----------  173 

Theseus  .........  177 

Philomela       -         -         .         -        -        -        -        .        -188 

The  Tragedies  of  Thebes— 

I.  Cadmus        ------.--  192 

II.  Niobe  ---.-----  197 

III.  CEdipus        -------.  200 

IV.  The  Seven  Against  Thebes     -        -        -        -        -  206 
V.  Antigone       -----.--  209 

VI.  The  Fatal  Heirlooms     -        -        -        -        -        -214 

Echo  and  Narcissus        -        -        -        -        -        -        -218 

The  Sacred  Oak    --------  222 

The  Tale  of  Troy — 

I.  Paris  and  Helen    .------  225 

II.  The  Gathering  at  Aulis  -         -         -        -        -        -  231 

III.  The  Wrath  of  Achilles   ------  238 

IV.  The  Battles  of  Gods  and  Heroes      -         -        -        -  245 
V.  Hector  and  Achilles        --_-•.  260 

VI.  The  Fall  of  Troy 271 

The  House  of  Agamemnon — 

I.  Clytemnestra  --•-•-.  283 

II.  Orestes         .----...  287 

ni.  Iphigenia      -         -        -        -         -        --         -  290 

k 


CONTENTS  xiii 

The  Adventures  of  Odysseus —  ^^S*- 

I.  His  Perilous  Voyage  Homewards     -         -         -         -  296 

II.  From  Circe's  Isle  to  Calypso's  -        «        -         -  308 

III.  New  Friends  in  Need     ------  322 

IV.  The  Return  to  Ithaca     -         -        -        •        -         -331 
V.  The  Day  of  Doom  -         -         -        •         -         -351 

VI.  The  End  of  the  Odyssey         -         -         -        -         -  363 

Hero  and  Leander  -------  ^6y 

Cupid  and  Psyche — 

I.  Aphrodite's  Rival  -------  369 

II.  The  Jealous  Sisters         ------  373 

III.  Penance  and  Pardon       ------  377 

The  Ring  of  Polycrates         -        -        •        -        -        -384 
Crcesus  ----------  387 

The  Treasury  of  Rhampsinitus       -         -        •        •         -  390 
The  Lover's  Leap  --------  393 

Er  Among  the  Dead      -------  398 

Damon  and  Pythias         -------  403 

Rhcecus  ---------  408 

Laodamia        -         -         -        -        -        -        -        -         "417 

Cephalus  and  Procris     -         -        -        -        -        -         -413 

TiTHONUS  ---------    414 

Arethusa         -         -         --         -         -         -         -         -  424 

Cupid's  Trick         --------  427 

Index      --.•-----.-  429 


PLATES    IN    COLOUR 


Page 

PERSEUS   AND    ANDROMEDA Frontispiece 

From  the  painting  by  Lord  Leightony  P.R.A.y  in  the  fValker  Art 
Gallery^  Liverpool 

PHCEBUS   APOLLO facing     34 

Frmi  the  painting  by  Briton  Rivierey  R.A.y  in  the  Birmingham 
Art  Gallery 

THE    RETURN    OF    PERSEPHONE ,,124 

From  the  painting  by  Lord  Leightony  P.R.A.y  in  the  Leeds 
Art  Gallery 

HYLAS   AND   THE    WATER    NYMPHS  -         -         •         •     „       154 

From  the  painting  by  y.  W.  Waterhousey  R.A.y  in  the  Manchester 

Art  Gallery 

THE   GOLDEN    FLEECE ,,166 

From  the  painting  by  H.  J.  Draper  in  the  Bradford 
Art  Gallery 

ECHO   AND    NARCISSUS ,,220 

From  the  painting  by  J,  W.  Waterhousey  R.A.y  in  the  Walker 
Art  Galleryy  Liverpool 

CLYTEMNESTRA ,,284 

From  the  painting  by  Hon.  yohn  Collier  in  the  Guildhally 
London 

THE    LAST   WATCH    OF    HERO ,,368 

From  the  painting  by  Lord  Leightony  P.R.A.y  in  the  Manchester 
Art  Gallery 


VI 


PLATES   IN   MONOCHROME 

(See  page  428) 

I.  PANDORA.     By  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

a.  SIBYLLA   DELPHICA.     By  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones. 

3.  ZEUS    (JUPITER).     From  the  sculpture  in  the  Louvre,  Paris. 

4.  ENDYMION  CONVEYED   IN  SLEEP  TO   OLD   MOUNT  LATMOS. 

From  the  clay  relief  by  Harry  Bates. 

5.  THE   VENUS    OF   MELOS.     From  the  statue  in  the  Louvre,  Paris. 

6.  HERMES   CARRYING   DIONYSUS.     From  the  statue  by  Praxiteles. 

7.  PAN.     From  the  sculpture  by  Henry  A.  Pegram,  A.R.A. 

8.  HOMER.     From  the  clay  relief  by  Harry  Bates. 

9.  PERSEUS    AND    THE    GREY    SISTERS    (GRAIiE).     By  Sir  Edward 

Burne-Jones. 

10.  ATALANTA'S   RACE.     By  Sir  E.  J.  Poynter,  P.R.A. 

11.  HERCULES   AND   THE   BOAR.     From  the  bronze  by  Jean  de  Bologne. 

12.  THE   GARDEN   OF  THE   HESPERIDES.     By  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones. 

13.  HERCULES    WRESTLING    WITH    DEATH    FOR    THE    BODY    OF 

ALCESTIS.     By  Lord  Leighton,  P.R.A. 

14.  ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE.    By  G.  F.  Watts,  R.A. 

15.  PROMETHEUS.     From  the  sculpture  by  Puget. 

16.  THE  LAMENT  FOR   ICARUS.    By  Herbert  J.  Draper, 

17.  ARIADNE   IN   NAXOS.     By  G.  F.  Watts,  R.A. 

18.  OEDIPUS   AT   COLONOS.     From  the  sculpture  by  Hugues. 

19.  ANTIGONE  STREWING  DUST  ON  THE  BODY  OF  POLYNEICES. 

By  Victor  J.  Robertson. 

20.  THE  JUDGMENT   OF   PARIS.     By  Solomon  J.  Solomon,  R.A. 

21.  THE  PARTING  OF  ACHILLES  AND  BRISEIS.   By  G.  F.  Watts,  R.A. 

22.  CAPTIVE  ANDROMACHE.     By  Lord  Leighton,  P.R.A. 

23.  NEPTUNE.     From  the  sculpture  by  Adam. 

24.  LAOCOON  AND   HIS   SONS.     From  the  sculpture  in  the  Vatican  Museum. 

25.  CIRCE.     By  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones. 

26.  ULYSSES   AND   THE   SIRENS.     By  Herbert  J.  Draper. 

27.  THE  RETURN  OF  ULYSSES.    By  L.  F.  Schutzenberger. 

28.  PENELOPE.     After  the  statue  by  R.  J.  Wyatt. 

29.  PSYCHE   AND   ZEPHYRUS.     From  the  clay  relief  by  Harry  Bates, 

30.  CUPID   AND  PSYCHE.     From  the  sculpture  by  Canova. 

31.  SAPPHO.     By  Sir  L.  Alma-Tadema,  R.A. 

32.  THE   THREE   FATES.     From   the  painting—"  A    Golden    Thread  "—by  J. 

M.  Strudwick. 

svi 


INTRODUCTION 


The  Growth  of  Myths 

In  the  childhood  of  our  world  the  myth-making 
faculty  seems  so  much  matter  of  course  that  the  Greek 
word  tjLvQog,  primarily  meaning  a  word  or  speech,  took  on 
its  special  sense  as  work  of  fancy.  Ignorant  minds  are 
moved  by  fear  and  wonder  to  interpret  their  experience 
in  parables,  the  personages  of  which  will  be  shadowy  or 
misty  images  of  their  own  nature,  distorted  beyond  mere 
humanity  and  released  from  the  limitations  of  earthly 
life.  At  the  early  stage  of  mental  development  passed 
through  by  each  man,  as  by  his  kind,  religion,  law,  and 
poetry  go  hand  in  hand,  sanctioning  a  love  of  per- 
sonification expressed  for  our  children  by  such  ideas  as 
"Father  Christmas",  the  "Man  in  the  Moon",  or 
the  "Land  of  Nod".  These  playful  myths  are  modi- 
fied to  edification  by  considerate  elders ;  but  from  what 
tales  will  be  hailed  as  satisfactory  in  the  best-regulated 
nurseries  we  can  guess  how  wild  imaginations,  without 
probability  or  proportion,  may  commend  themselves  to 
savage  peoples  whose  growing  perceptions  can  elaborate 
so  rude  sketches  into  a  mythology. 

In  an  age  of  comparative  enlightenment  such  imagi 
nations  too  long  lay  despised  for  nursery  fables,  to  be 
forgotten   in    the    schoolroom ;   but  the  new   science  oi 

CC288)  1  2a 


2  '  INTRODUCTION 

folklore  has  put  them  in  their  true  place  as  important 
lessons  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind.  The  first 
thing  that  strikes  a  student  of  them  is  the  resemblances 
and  coincidences  found  in  "  old  wives'  tales "  all  over 
the  world,  obscured  but  not  hidden  under  the  differences 
of  colouring  thrown  upon  them  by  diversity  of  custom 
and  environment.  Two  explanations  of  such  marks  of 
identity  have  been  put  forward.  It  may  be  that  these 
stories  took  their  outline  in  one  cradle  of  races,  which 
were  afterwards  so  widely  separated  as  to  have  lost  trace 
of  their  origin.  Or,  can  it  be  in  the  nature  of  man  that, 
under  varying  climes  and  conditions,  he  is  apt  to  hit 
upon  similar  explanations  of  the  phenomena  everywhere 
threatening  and  upholding  his  life  ? 

"  The  same  heart  beats  in  every  human  breast." 

The  question  between  these  theories  is  complicated 
by  the  consideration  of  migrations  and  conquests  that  all 
along  have  gont  to  mix  blood  and  thought.  At  this  day 
a  Persian  child  may  be  learning  its  first  notions  from 
a  Mongol  slave-nurse ;  and  thousands  of  years  ago  the 
rape  of  ,a  Helen  or  the  selling  of  a  Joseph  into  Egypt 
were  everyday  experiences  all  over  the  world.  It  is  easy 
to  see  how  the  races  round  the  Mediterranean  came  to 
share  one  another's  legends  and  superstitions.  But  it 
seems  much  more  of  a  puzzle  when  we  find  hints  of 
like  imaginations  rooted  in  Australia,  that  through  all 
historic  time  has  been  cut  off  from  other  homes  of  man, 
and  in  America,  where  for  ages  the  human  mind  seems 
to  have  had  its  own  independent  development  from 
savagery. 

Non  nostrum  tantas  componere  liteSy  when  ethnologists 
are  not  yet  at  one  on  such  questions.  Nor  need  we 
here  go  into  controversies  that  have  divided  rival  schools 


THE   GROWTH   OF   MYTHS  3 

of  folklore  students,  the  deepest  of  them  still  a  matter 
of  enquiry.  "  I  have  changed  my  views  repeatedly,  and 
I  have  resolved  to  change  them  again  with  every  change 
of  the  evidence  ",  says  Dr.  J.  G.  Frazer,  confessing  how 
the  candid  enquirer  must  play  the  chameleon  upon  the 
shifting  colours  of  this  freshly-turned-up  ground.  He 
is  here  speaking  of  totemism,  meaning  a  special  relation 
the  savage  believes  himself  to  bear  to  some  fetish  object 
or  ancestral  beast.  The  word  totem  is  little  more  than 
a  century  old  in  our  language,  and  it  was  only  in  our 
time  that,  from  its  being  taken  as  the  crest  of  a  Red 
Indian  clan,  it  has  been  promoted  to  rank  as  an  index 
of  primitive  customs  over  the  world,  specially  significant 
in  connection  with  the  law  of  exogamy  that  forbade 
marriage  between  sons  and  daughters  of  the  same  totem. 
Scholars  have  now  had  their  eyes  opened  to  once- 
neglected  hints  of  totemism  in  ancient  records ;  and 
Dr.  Frazer  has  lately  published  four  weighty  volumes 
on  a  subject  which  to  writers  like  Fenimore  Cooper 
supplied  picturesque  features  for  fiction,  till  L.  H.  Morgan 
in  his  League  of  the  Iroquois  and  J.  F.  M'Lennan  in  his 
Primitive  Marriage  began  to  point  out  the  important 
bearings  of  what  had  seemed  a  mere  primitive  heraldry. 
Some  commentators  on  folklore  are  suspected  of 
making  too  much  of  totemism  as  a  key  of  interpretation. 
Similarly,  in  the  last  generation  the  theory  was  pushed 
too  far  that  found  a  comprehensive  formula  for  myths  in 
the  visible  changes  of  the  sky  and  the  seasons.  The 
blood-red  giant  whose  strength  declines  after  midday 
might  well  be  the  sun;  the  hero  who  sets  out  so  briskly 
in  the  fresh  dawn  of  life  may  find  his  career  clouded  by 
the  mists  of  evening ;  the  moon  and  the  stars  too  had 
stories  of  their  own,  embroidered  by  fancy  upon  the 
background  of  night.     This  way  of  accounting  for  myths. 


4  INTRODUCTION 

helped  out  by  dubious  etymologies,  was  boldly  extended 
till  the  four-and-twenty  blackbirds  baked  in  a  pie  were 
like  to  become  in  grave  eyes  the  hours  of  day  and 
night,  and  the  maid  hanging  out  clothes  in  the  garden 
was  dealing  with  clouds  when  the  frost  bit  her  nose. 
The  sun-myth  school,  taught  in  Britain  by  Max  Mailer 
and  the  Rev.  Sir  G.  W.  Cox,  has  now  suffered  eclipse.^ 
But  there  can,  of  course,  be  no  doubt  that  the  sun 
and  moon,  the  changes  of  weather  and  seasons,  the 
havoc  of  storms,  floods,  and  droughts,  played  a  great 
part  in  suggesting  the  personages  and  scenery  of  nascent 
imagination. 

Some  students,  flying  from  the  Scylla  of  universal 
sun-worship,  appear  drawn  to  the  Charybdis  of  looking 
on  the  growth  of  vegetable  life  as  a  main  source  of 
mythology,  one  indeed  fruitful  in  hints  for  marvel. 
Such  superstitions  as  the  "  corn  baby ",  still  lingering 
among  our  peasantry  in  half-jocular  respect,  such  rites 
as  those  of  our  nearly  obsolete  "Jack  in  the  Green'*, 
are  survivals  of  fancies  once  taken  very  seriously,  as 
they  still  are  in  many  parts  of  the  world.  From  its 
most  distant  corners,  missionaries,  explorers,  traders, 
renegade  white  men,  and  other  not  always  competent 
witnesses,  go  on  adding  to  the  list  of  traditions,  taboos, 
sacrifices,  charms,  divinations,  and  other  savage  notions 
and  customs ;  thus  we  have  a  growing  heap  of  evidence 
to  be  sifted,  tested,  and  compared  by  scholars  seeking 
some  consistent  theory,  a  question  that  would  not  greatly 
trouble  the  original  shapers  of  myth  and  legend. 

So  much  has  been  hinted  to  show  how  folklorists 
are  still  at  work  on  their  foundations.     Enough  for  us 

*  The  Dublin  University  publication  Kottabos  had  a  famous  skit  on  this  8choo9« 
adapting  his  own  arguments  to  prove  Max  Miiller  himself  a  mere  sun-myth! 


THE   GROWTH   OF   MYTHS  5 

to  know  primitive  man  as  prone  to  wonder,  to  be  moved 
by  desires  and  fears  "  as  old  at  once  and  new  as  nature's 
self",  to  look  on  all  he  does  not  understand  as  mystery, 
then  to  express  his  fears,  aspirations,  and  amazement  in 
rude  fables,  which,  shaped  by  priests  and  poets  with 
more  or  less  conscious  purpose,  soon  grew  to  be  at  once 
phases  of  faith  and  essays  in  science.  Dim-sighted 
fancies  they  were,  misled  by  refractions  and  shadows, 
yet  gropings  after  truth,  that,  when  lit  by  the  dawn  of 
knowledge  and  culture,  might  lose  much  of  their  original 
grossness,  and  be  refined  to  inspiring  systems  of  religion. 
The  day  is  gone  by  when  we  could  complacently  look 
down  on  all  paganism  as  a  dead-level  of  ignorant  idolatry 
and  deceitful  priestcraft. 

"  Each  form  of  worship  that  hath  swayed 
The  life  of  man,  and  given  it  to  grasp 
The  master-key  of  knowledge,  reverence. 
Enfolds  some  germ  of  goodness  and  of  right ; 
Else  never  had  the  eager  soul  which  loathes 
The  slothful  down  of  pampered  ignorance 
Found  in  it  even  a  moment's  fitful  rest." 

It  IS  not  difficult  to  see  how  ancient  Greece  gave  a 
soil  for  the  rich  crop  of  religious  imaginations  that,  em- 
balmed by  genius  and  artistic  skill,  have  passed  into  the 
literature  of  the  world,  while  kindred  beliefs  of  other 
lands  wither  in  oblivion  or  are  preserved  only  as  curious 
specimens  in  the  collections  of  ethnology.  That  sea- 
broken  peninsula,  set  about  with  islands  which  made 
stepping-stones  to  the  mainland  shores  of  the  eastern 
Mediterranean,  was  from  very  early  times  a  meeting- 
place  of  different  races  that  here  blended  their  stock  of 
ideas  as  well  as  their  blood.  The  autochthonous  inhabi- 
tants, Pelasgians,  or  whoever  they  were,  could  not  fail  to 
be  touched  by  hostile  and  commercial  relations  with  the 


6  INTRODUCTION 

seaboard  states  of  Asia  and  Africa,  far  before  them  in 
culture.  Since  the  beginning  of  this  century,  it  has 
been  made  clear  that  Crete  was  from  about  B.C.  3000 
a  strong  sea -power  of  comparative  civilization.  The 
horizon  of  Greek  history  has  been  widened  by  the 
digging  up  of  the  Mycenaean  treasures  in  the  north- 
east of  the  Peloponnesus,  where  a  new  kingdom  rose 
to  greatness  as  that  of  Crete  fell  into  decay.  Then  this 
horizon  becomes  clouded  by  swarms  of  Aryan  invaders  or 
immigrants  pushing  from  the  north,  as  their  kinsmen  de- 
scended upon  Hindustan  through  the  Himalayan  passes, 
and  as  the  Goths  afterwards  overran  the  other  peninsulas 
of  Europe.  Thus  divers  influences  from  north  and 
south  met  within  the  narrow  bounds  ot  Greece,  whence 
they  soon  flowed  back  upon  Asia  in  the  prosperous 
Ionian  and  other  colonies  that  kept  their  motherland  in 
touch  with  the  dreamy  East,  whose  own  developed  super- 
stitions, in  turn,  kept  infiltrating  into  the  minds  of  a  race 
all  along  ready  to  absorb  a  variety  of  religious  ideas. 

There  were  repeated  waves  of  Aryan  immigration,  the 
strongest  of  them  the  Achaean  and  the  Dorian  that  fixed 
their  main  settlements  respectively  in  the  northern  and 
southern  part  of  this  almost  sundered  land.  The  con- 
quered and  displaced  tribes  would  not  be  exterminated, 
but  to  a  large  extent  became  absorbed  among  the  in- 
vaders, if  they  were  unable  to  preserve  their  indepen- 
dence penned  up  in  rugged  mountain  fastnesses,  as 
appears  to  have  been  the  case  in  Arcadia,  as  was  cer- 
tainly the  case  with  Dravidian  stocks  in  India,  and  with 
the  much-mixed  Celts  of  our  own  Highlands.  So  here 
was  a  Medea's  cauldron  of  flesh  and  blood,  a  hodge- 
podge which  would  boil  briskly  on  the  fires  of  time  till 
there  emerged  a  new  national  consciousness  that  by  what 
seems   accident    took   for   itself    the   general    names   of 


THE   GROWTH   OF   MYTHS  7 

Hellas  and  Hellenes,  then  had  to  use  its  faculty  for 
story-telling  by  inventing  a  fabulous  Hellen  as  ancestor. 
Myth-making  had  naturally  thriven  among  this 
|umble  of  clashing  races  and  blending  superstitions. 
Nor  was  the  Grecian  mind  thus  evolved  to  be  shut  up 
within  itself.  The  new  seaboard  states,  like  the  old 
ones,  had  relations  of  commerce  with  other  shores,  that 
soon  became  relations  of  conquest.  Pressed  for  room  in 
their  narrow  and  not  over-fertile  bounds,  the  enterpris- 
ing Greeks  swarmed  out  into  colonies  upon  the  Black 
Sea,  and  round  half  the  Mediterranean.  The  south  of 
Italy  came  to  be  known  as  Magna  Graecia^  where  the 
chance  of  a  tribe  of  Graeci  coming  in  contact  with  the 
Romans  fixed  on  the  whole  race  the  Latinized  name  of 
Greeks,  by  which  they  have  been  best  known  to  the 
modern  world,  as  in  some  parts  of  Asia  all  Christians 
came  to  be  "  Franks ",  and  among  some  Red  Indian 
tribes  the  American  colonists  in  general  were  "Boston 
men  **.  Into  Italy  these  intruders  brought  their  reli- 
gious notions  to  be  grafted  on  often  kindred  roc*s 
already  fixed  in  the  soil  by  common  ancestors,  strayed 
from  far  and  wide.  Thus  the  Latin  mythology  readily 
adopted  variants  of  the  Hellenic  forms,  more  clearly 
shaped  by  the  influence  of  Greek  literature  upon  con- 
quering Rome.  And  in  Asia  the  Greek  mind  not  only 
lent  but  borrowed  new  inspirations  that  went  to  make 
its  religion  singularly  rich  in  ideas  to  be  shaped  afresh 
by  a  love  of  personification  and  a  sense  for  the  beauty 
of  life.  Later  on  was  to  come  a  more  fruitful  union 
between  the  clear-eyed  genius  of  Hellenism  and  the 
sterner  Hebraic  conscience.  The  myths  of  Greek 
paganism  themselves  had  been  cross-bred  from  mingling 
stocks,  which  might  belong  to  sundered  families  of 
human  thought  and  speech. 


8  INTRODUCTION 

It  is,  of  course,  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  such 
mythology  sprang  into  the  world  full-grown,  as  Minerva 
from  the  head  of  Jove.  Its  embryo  forms  are  hidden 
from  us  in  a  remote  past,  unless  we  can  catch  them 
reflected  in  the  fables  of  savages  at  a  stage  of  develop- 
ment passed  through  by  forgotten  ancestors  of  Homer 
and  Pindar.  The  theophany  of  Olympus  was  an  ob- 
scure and  slow  accretion;  and  to  the  end  the  materials 
of  Greek  faith  remained  imperfectly  fused.  Even  in 
the  Christian  era  time-honoured  "  stocks  and  stones " 
were  worshipped  with  more  fervour  than  the  statues  of 
famous  deities.  The  "  sweetness  and  light  **  supposed 
to  characterize  Greek  conceptions  came  slowly  to  days 
of  art  and  study,  perhaps  tinged  mainly  the  cultured 
life  of  cities,  while  rude  Arcadians  and  the  like  clung 
to  their  old  bogeydom.  The  earliest  objects  of  adora- 
tion, of  propitiation  rather,  appear  everywhere  to  have 
been  shapes  of  dread  and  horror,  begetting  imaginary 
monsters,  "  Gorgons  and  Hydras  and  Chimaeras  dire ". 
It  is  a  world-wide  experience  that  such  old  supersti- 
tions persist  through  ages  of  higher  faith,  long  after 
their  origin  has  been  forgotten.  At  this  day  there  are 
peasants  in  Britain  who  profess  to  have  advanced  beyond 
the  faith  of  Rome  or  of  Anglicanism,  yet  unwittingly 
practise  pagan  rites  of  sun-worship,  and  with  maimed 
observance  keep  the  feasts  of  banished  idols,  themselves 
lingering  unsuspected  here  and  there,  as  in  the  shape 
of  ugly  obelisks  approved  among  believers  zealous  to 
proscribe  the  sign  of  the  Cross. 

The  serpent,  the  owl,  and  other  animals  represented 
as  attendant  on  the  Olympian  gods  were  no  doubt 
older  than  themselves,  hallowed  as  totems  long  before 
Zeus  took  shape,  still  to  pursue  his  earthly  amours  in 
such  suggestive  forms  as  a  bull's  or  a  swan*s.     An  un- 


THE   GROWTH   OF   MYTHS  9 

canny  creature  like  the  snake  makes  a  very  early  object 
of  reverence  or  abhorrence  which  it  is  long  in  losing. 
Even  in  Scotland,  where  more  deadly  snakes  than  adders 
are  unknown,  people  will  not  eat  an  eel;  and  there  is  a 
lingering  prejudice  against  pork,  perhaps  coming  down 
from  days  when  the  pig  was  in  such  honour  here  as  to 
name  mountains  and  islands.  In  Greece,  serpents  were 
revered  by  the  ignorant  later  than  Lucian's  day,  whose 
exposure  of  the  false  prophet  Alexander  shows  us  a 
tame  snake  as  chief  "  property  "  of  that  impostor's  hocus- 
pocus. 

Superstition  would  not  so  readily  try  her  "prentice 
hand  on  man".  Early  deities,  after  growing  out  of 
the  totem  stage,  are  apt  to  take  female  forms,  as  con- 
ceived in  a  matriarchal  state  of  society,  while  rude 
morals  exalt  the  certain  mother  above  the  dubious  father 
of  her  children.  Later,  when  the  male  has  assumed  his 
place  as  head  or  tyrant  of  the  family,  with  woman  for 
his  drudge,  he  makes  a  god  rather  in  the  image  of  his 
own  sex.  The  Cretan  state  seen  flourishing  from  about 
B.C.  3000  appears  to  have  had  a  female  fertilizing  spirit 
for  its  chief  divinity,  along  with  a  special  regard  for 
the  bulls  that  made  a  valuable  asset  to  tribal  wealth. 
Similar  conceptions  prevailed  on  the  Eastern  shores 
whence  Greece  drew  the  first  seeds  of  culture.  The 
Aryan  invaders  from  the  north  must  have  brought  with 
them  the  notion  of  a  father  in  heaven,  the  shining 
DyauSy  whose  name  has  passed  into  so  many  tongues. 
The  marriage  of  this  sky -god  with  the  earth -spirit 
begot  that  brood  of  deities,  for  whom  dominions  could 
be  found  in  the  air,  the  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  dark 
underworld,  and  who  were  fabled  to  mix  their  immortal 
blood  with  that  of  the  national  or  local  heroes  making 
a  link  between  god  and  man. 


lo  INTRODUCTION 

The  Greek  Pantheon  was  fortunate  in  finding  more 
than  one  vates  sacer,  for  want  of  whom  so  many  gods 
as  well  as  heroes  have  been  buried  in  oblivion.  Homer 
and  Hesiod  fixed  for  us  the  religious  ideas  obtaining 
nearly  a  thousand  years  before  our  era ;  and  both  of 
them  mention  bards  who  must  have  been  handling  the 
same  theme  for  generations.  The  theogony  of  Hesiod, 
as  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  says,  was  for  Greek  youth  what 
the  catechisms  of  our  own  Churches  are  for  us,  pre- 
senting a  formal  view  of  Greek  articles  of  faith.  The 
title  of  "  Greek  Bible  "  has  been  given  to  the  poems  of 
Homer,  which,  whoever  wrote  them,  appear  to  be  earlier 
than  Hesiod  in  their  first  form;  yet  it  is  remarkable  that 
they  put  the  gods  in  a  loftier  light,  ignoring  much  of 
the  grossness  found  in  later  stories ;  and  this  though 
the  poet  seems  to  be  consciously  archaizing,  as  when 
he  sets  his  heroes  in  the  age  of  bronze  weapons,  but 
here  and  there  lets  out  that  iron  was  familiar  to  his 
time.  The  Odysseyy  too,  evinces  some  more  elevated 
conceptions  and  other  manners  than  the  ///W,  which 
have  been  variously  explained  as  signs  of  a  later  date  or 
of  a  separate  origin.  The  Iliad^  for  example,  shows  the 
Oriental  contempt  of  dogs  as  prowling  scavengers;  while 
in  the  Odyssey  they  are  fierce  but  faithful  guardians  of 
a  flock,  and  one  hound,  lit  up  to  fame  by  a  ray  of 
sympathetic  feeling,  bears  a  name,  Argos,  such  as  in 
the  Iliad  is  attributed  to  the  horses  of  Achilles.  All 
those  questions  as  to  Homeric  personality,  authenticity, 
date,  and  origin  on  the  Ionian  shores  of  Asia  or  else- 
where, must  be  passed  over  lightly  here.  There  may 
have  been  one  great  poet  whose  mind  made  a  refining 
crucible  for  the  ore  of  legend  ;  but  scholars  now  rather 
incline  to  take  Homer  as  no  more  real  than  his  heroes 
— themselves    perhaps    half-real — his    name    covering    a 


THE  GROWTH  OF   MYTHS  li 

long  process  of  welding  together  old  fables  and  tradi- 
tions into  a  final  form  where  imperfect  fusion  is  be- 
trayed by  careless  inconsistencies;  and  the  evolved  moral 
ideas  that  hint  a  later  date  may  perhaps  have  belonged 
to  some  false  dawn  of  thought,  clouded  over  by  recurrent 
barbarism. 

In  those  famous  poems  the  Pantheon  appears  not 
quite  complete ;  but  all  its  chief  members  have  taken 
their  place,  superseding  an  older  generation  of  gods, 
whose  history  was  less  edifying.  Local  cults,  no  doubt, 
went  on  amalgamating,  also  perhaps  arising  afresh,  and 
in  some  cases  spreading  far,  as  when  Athene,  the  patron 
goddess  of  Athens,  became  reverenced  over  Greece, 
and  across  the  Adriatic  was  transformed  into  the  Latin 
Minerva.  There  were  waves  of  foreign  influence,  like 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  worship  of  Bacchus  introduced 
with  the  culture  of  the  vine,  whereas  honey  had  made 
the  nectar  of  the  old  gods.  The  Orphic  spirit  in  Greek 
religion  is  a  more  mysterious  infusion.  It  has  been 
supposed  that  Orpheus  was  a  real  teacher,  who  sought 
to  raise  men's  minds  upon  a  cloud  of  mystic  practices 
and  to  refine  superstition  into  a  rule  of  nobler  life. 
Under  his  name,  at  all  events,  a  movement  of  religious 
zeal  spread  over  the  Hellenic  world,  probably  allied 
with  the  new  doctrines  of  Pythagoras  as  to  life  after 
death,  marking  one  tendency  of  the  Greek  mind,  while 
another  was  manifested  in  the  Ionian  philosophers  who 
would  have  turned  attention  rather  on  rationalistic  en- 
quiries into  the  nature  of  matter  and  its  phenomena. 

About  the  middle  of  the  millennium  before  Christ, 
we  come  into  the  clearer  light  of  Greece's  great  days, 
when  its  hurling  back  of  the  Persian  hosts  called  forth 
a  stronger  sentiment  of  national  life,  and  mental  culture 
went  hand  in  hand  with  martial  pride.     A  rapid  develop- 


12  INTRODUCTION 

ment  of  intellectual  life  seems  marked  by  the  first  solid 
history,  the  work  of  Thucydides,  coming  close  upon 
the  legendary  tales  of  Herodotus.  Now  Phidias  almost 
breathes  life  into  the  statues  of  the  gods ;  Pericles 
adorns  their  temples,  whose  priests,  and  the  craftsmen 
to  whom  those  shrines  bring  no  small  gain,  are  con- 
cerned to  keep  up  the  old  beliefs;  but  moralists  are  fain 
to  shake  their  heads  over  barbarous  legends  which  the 
great  Athenian  dramatists  shape  into  statuesque  tableaux 
and  choruses;  while  philosophy  seems  hard  put  to  it  in 
reconciling  them  with  new  conceptions  of  duty  and  piety. 
The  philosophic  mind,  indeed,  sublimating  forms  mto 
ideas,  finds  much  to  apologize  for  and  to  explain  away 
in  the  popular  Pantheon,  set  in  a  new  light  by  com- 
parison with  the  gods  of  other  lands.  Pythagoras  saw 
Hesiod  bound  to  a  pillar  in  Hades  as  punishment  for  the 
lies  he  had  told  about  the  gods;  Plato  was  for  banish- 
ing the  fabling  poets  from  his  ideal  state.  To  Homer 
himself,  it  will  be  remembered,  Olympus  furnished  the 
most  comic  scenes  of  his  story.  Later  poets  show  con- 
sciousness that  their  favourite  themes  need  a  good  deal 
of  "  editing  ",  such'  as  Homer,  too,  no  doubt  did  in  his 
day  according  to  its  lights.  Euripides  raised  applause 
by  dealing  boldly  with  unedifying  stories  of  the  gods, 
when  yet  the  sophist  Protagoras  was  prosecuted  for 
professing  himself  an  agnostic  as  to  their  very  exis- 
tence. Plato  suggests  nobler  myths  of  creation,  and 
purgatorial  emendations  on  the  incredible  torments  of 
Hades:  he  may  still  speak  of  gods,  but  what  he  has  in 
his  mind's  eye  is  the  archetypal  godlike.  More  and 
more,  thinking  men  come  to  look  on  the  divine  as  a 
potency  or  tendency  rather  than  a  batch  of  personalities, 
while  the  vulgar  cling  to  old  superstitions  or  even  adopt 
new  ones  with  the  eclectic  spasms  of  decadence  we  see 


THE   GROWTH   OF   MYTHS  13 

at  work  among  some  of  ourselves,  who  give  up  their 
orthodox  faith  to  itch  after  exotic  theosophies  and 
wonder-workings. 

About  a  century  before  our  era,  Apollodorus  wrote 
in  stolid  prose  a  history  of  godlike  and  heroic  doings, 
which  has  made  memoires  pour  servir  for  many  more- 
spirited  writers.  Theocritus  and  other  poets  of  a  later 
age  give  a  shapely  turn  to  the  old  legends,  as  did  Ovid 
in  his  Metamorphoses^  that  handed  them  down  to  the 
mediaeval  world.  Prose  writers  like  Apuleius,  too,  try 
their  hand  at  fairy  tales.  Then,  in  the  second  century 
after  Christ,  comes  a  Lucian  to  assail  Olympus  with  peals 
of  laughter,  and  to  caricature  the  absurd  marvels  of 
mythology.  It  is  harder  for  us  to  understand  the  mental 
attitude  of  Pausanias,  who,  in  the  same  century,  made 
an  alternately  credulous  and  critical  survey  of  the  monu- 
ments of  his  ancestral  superstition.  By  this  time  the 
wisest  pagans  were  more  or  less  unconsciously  borrowing 
from  Christianity,  while  early  Christian  teachers  might 
take  classic  legends  as  texts  for  denouncing  the  works 
of  the  devil,  but  would  not  be  concerned  to  put  these 
stories  in  the  best  light.  Purer  morals  brought  new 
tests  to  bear.  Modern  moralists  and  poets  are  bound  to 
pass  lightly  over  the  coarsenesses  of  a  mythology  that 
has  offered  many  subjects  for  edifying  discourse  and 
enhancement  by  graceful  fancy.  Our  artists,  too,  have 
touched  up  some  of  those  time-worn  myths,  bringing 
out  here  a  feature,  and  there  covering  up  a  fault,  to  fit 
in  with  their  rules  of  composition  or  canons  of  the 
becoming. 

So  stands  in  what  might  be  called  ruinous  repair 
that  broken  temple  of  the  Grecian  mind  which,  ages 
after  it  has  seen  a  devout  worshipper,  makes  one  of  the 
grandest  monuments  of  the  human  instinct  bidding — • 


14  INTRODUCTION 

"  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul. 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll! 
Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  temple,  loftier  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast. 
Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  seai'" 


Theogony  and  Cosmogony 

"The  cosmogony  or  creation  of  the  world  has  puzzled 
philosophers  of  all  ages ",  pronounced  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield's  learned  acquaintance ;  but  ancient  poets  have 
been  readier  with  explanations,  not  wholly  consistent. 
The  books  that  reach  us  under  the  name  of  Hesiod 
set  forth  a  formal  series  of  conceptions,  to  a  great  extent 
incidentally  borne  out  by  Homer.  The  protoplasm  of 
all  things  was  Chaos,  where  Love  soon  began  to  stir  and 
to  call  forth  reproductive  shapes.  Night  brought  forth 
Day ;  Earth,  besides  her  brood  of  mountains  and  seas, 
was  the  parent  of  the  sky,  that  easily  passed  into  a 
personage,  Uranus,  whose  marriage  with  Gaea,  or  Ge, 
another  allegory  of  the  earth,  founded  a  huge  family  of 
Titans,  Cyclopes,  and  the  like  gigantic  beings. 

This  prologue  presents  a  rather  misty  scene,  but  the 
stage  is  now  set  for  an  historical  drama  in  which  the 
dynasty  of  the  gods  shows  to  disadvantage  by  quarrels 
between  father  and  son  more  bitter  than  those  of  our 
eighteenth-century  Georges.  Uranus  hated  his  mon- 
strous progeny  so  much  that  he  imprisoned  them  in  a 
cave,  and  thereby  drove  Gaea  to  a  treasonable  plot, 
carried  out  by  her  youngest  son  Cronos  (Saturn). 
Armed  with  a  sharp  sickle,  he  attacked  and  shamefully 
mutilated  his  father,  from  whose  blood  sprang  fresh 
monsters.     Here  Hesiod  breaks  the  main  thread  of  his 


THEOGONY  AND   COSMOGONY  15 

story  to  record  the  birth  of  Aphrodite  from  the  sea, 
also  the  incarnation  of  the  Fates,  along  with  abstractions 
such  as  Necessity,  Strife,  Toil,  and  many  of  the  other 
characters  to  figure  in  mythological  romance. 

We  come  back  to  the  reign  of  Cronos,  paired  with 
his  sister  Rhea,  who  afterwards  as  Cybele  became  vener- 
ated as  mother  of  the  gods,  representing  the  matriarchally 
conceived  deity  who  was  long  supreme  on  the  adjacent 
coasts  of  Asia.  Her  husband  turned  out  a  not  less  ruth- 
less tyrant  than  his  father.  Warned  that  he  should  be 
dethroned  by  one  of  his  own  children,  he  made  a  practice 
of  swallowing  them  at  birth.  The  family  thus  sup- 
pressed were  three  sisters,  Hestia,  Demeter,  and  Hera, 
followed  by  three  brothers,  Pluto,  Poseidon,  and  Zeus. 
He  who  was  to  be  the  heir  is  the  youngest  in  Hesiod, 
like  his  father  before  him ;  but  elsewhere  Zeus  is  re- 
presented as  the  eldest  son.  Rhea,  like  her  mother,  was 
naturally  ill-pleased  by  such  treatment  of  her  offspring ; 
and  when  it  came  to  the  birth  of  Zeus,  she  played  a 
trick  upon  the  unnatural  father  by  wrapping  a  stone  in 
swaddling  clothes,  which  he  unsuspiciously  swallowed, 
while  the  babe  was  smuggled  off  to  be  brought  up  in 
a  cave  on  Mount  Dicte  in  Crete.  There  reared  to  man- 
hood, the  young  god  fulfilled  his  destiny  by  coming 
back  to  dethrone  Cronos,  forcing  him  also  to  disgorge 
his  brothers  and  sisters  along  with  the  stone  representing 
himself,  long  treasured  as  a  relic  at  the  shrine  of  Pytho 
on  Mount  Parnassus,  afterwards  more  famous  as  the 
oracle  of  Delphi. 

The  reign  of  Zeus  was  soon  marked  by  civil  war. 
He  had  released  his  gigantic  uncles  from  their  confine- 
ment ;  and  a  faction  of  Titans  ill  rewarded  him  by 
raising  insurrection  on  behalf  of  Cronos.  The  ten  years' 
conflict  of  Titans   and  gods  is  a  famous   episode,   that 


1 6  INTRODUCTION 

suggested  to  Milton  his  conception  of  the  battle  with 
fallen  angels.  The  scene  of  the  struggle  was  imagined 
as  the  mountains  of  Thessaly,  where  Olympus  made 
the  fastness  of  the  gods,  while  the  Titans  occupied  the 
Othrys  range  to  the  south,  and  were  fabled  to  have  piled 
its  summits  on  one  another  in  their  attempt  to  scale 
heaven,  but  came  to  be  beaten  back  by  the  thunderbolts 
of  Zeus,  on  whose  side  fought  the  hundred-handed  giant 
Briareus,  the  Cyclopes,  and  other  monstrous  warriors. 
Finally  the  rebels  were  conquered  and  driven  down  to 
confinement  in  Tartarus. 

Zeus,  now  established  as  sovereign,  gave  to  his 
brothers,  Poseidon  and  Pluto,  the  kingdoms  of  the  sea 
and  of  the  dark  underworld,  while  he  kept  earth  and 
heaven  as  his  own  dominion.  But  not  yet  could  he  reign 
in  peace.  Fresh  rebellion  broke  out  under  Typhon,  a 
hundred-headed  monster  begotten  by  Gaea  and  Tartarus; 
then  came  another  insurrection  of  giants ;  so  not  for 
long,  Typhon  being  at  last  imprisoned  under  the  burning 
mass  of  Mount  Etna,  were  the  gods  free  to  dwell  at 
ease  beside  their  nectar ;  and  henceforth  the  history  of 
Olympus  becomes  rather  a  scandalous  chronicle  of 
despotism  tempered  by  intrigues. 

From  heaven  we  turn  to  earth,  the  early  story  of 
which  seems  more  edifying.  lapetus,  brother  of  Cronos, 
had  four  sons,  two  of  whom  took  part  with  the  rebellious 
Titans,  one  being  Atlas,  punished  by  having  for  ever  to 
hold  up  on  his  shoulders  the  vault  of  the  sky,  or  the 
earth  itself,  as  his  doom  came  to  be  more  easily  pictured 
in  an  illustration  made  familiar  in  the  frontispiece  to 
early  collections  of  maps,  hence  christened  by  his  name. 
His  brother  Prometheus  fought  for  Olympus,  yet  later 
incurred  the  anger  of  Zeus.  While  man  is  sometimes 
spoken  of  as    autochthonous,  generated    from  the  soil. 


THEOGONY  AND   COSMOGONY  17 

one  story  makes  Prometheus  his  creator,  who  kneaded 
him  of  day  in  the  image  of  the  gods,  shaping  his  body 
to  look  up  to  heaven  instead  of  down  upon  earth,  and 
endowing  him  with  the  best  of  the  qualities  distributed 
by  his  brother  Epimetheus  among  mere  animals.  At 
all  events,  Prometheus  (Forethought)  figures  as  the 
patron  and  champion  of  man,  on  whose  behalf  he  stole 
away  from  heaven  the  gift  of  fire,  grudged  by  Zeus, 
and  in  a  hollow  reed  brought  it  down  to  be  treasured 
on  earth.  The  angry  king  of  Olympus  punished  his 
bold  vassal  by  fettering  him  on  a  clifF  of  the  Caucasus 
for  thirty  thousand  years,  daily  tormented  by  an  eagle 
tearing  at  his  liver. 

Hesiod  has  to  add  a  more  grotesque  offence  given 
by  Prometheus  to  the  lord  of  heaven.  Sacrificing  an  ox, 
he  made  two  parcels  of  its  flesh,  one  chiefly  consisting 
of  the  bones  covered  with  a  slight  layer  of  fat  under  the 
hide,  then  invited  Zeus  to  choose  one  for  himself;  and 
though  the  god  saw  through  the  trick,  none  the  less  he 
held  himself  for  insulted,  and  took  this  excuse  to  refuse 
the  gift  of  fire,  which  then  had  to  be  filched  by  man's 
presumptuous  friend. 

To  balance  the  irrevocable  boon  of  fire,  Zeus  gave 
man  a  curse  in  the  shape  of  that  scapegoat  on  which  early 
priests  and  poets  so  readily  load  the  sins  of  our  race. 
Woman  was  created  and  sent  down  to  earth  by  the  hands 
of  Epimetheus  (Afterthought).^  The  name  Pandora  de- 
notes how  she  was  endowed  by  the  gods  with  beauty  and 
accomplishments,  instructed  and  dressed  by  Athene,  while 
Hermes  bestowed  on  her  artful  wiles  and  Aphrodite 
seductive  charms.     As  outfit,   she  brought  a  box   filled 

-  Plato  relates  a  queer  myth  that  man  was  originally  created  in  a  round  shape, 
with  eight  limbs,  and  that,  to  abate  his  pride,  Zeus  cut  him  in  two,  dividing  the  race 
into  male  and  fernale  halves. 


1 8  INTRODUCTION 

with  plagues  and  vices,  which  she  was  forbidden  to  open; 
but  female  curiosity  was  already  as  strong  as  in  the  days 
of  Bluebeard :  she  raised  the  lid,  and  out  flew  the  germs 
of  widespread  suffering  for  mankind.  When  she  shut  it 
up  too  late,  only  Hope  remained  at  the  bottom  of  the 
fatal  casket  to  be  a  balm  for  all  those  woes. 

Consistency  seems  too  much  to  expect  of  poets,  and 
from  Pandora  Hesiod  goes  on  to  give  another  history 
of  man,  afterwards  made  more  familiar  by  Ovid.  Our 
men  of  science  tell  us  how  we  must  have  risen  from  a 
low  estate  through  successive  ages  of  stone  tools  and 
weapons,  improved  by  the  use  of  metals,  hammering  out 
more  and  more  elaborate  arts.  The  poetic  mind  reverses 
this  progress,  always  looking  back  fondly  on  a  golden 
dawn  of  innocence  and  happiness,  from  which  man  fell 
to  the  coarse  realities  of  his  present  life.  The  classical 
age  of  gold  was  under  Saturn,  when  the  denizens  of  earth 
had  no  need  to  envy  Olympus. 

"  Like  gods  they  lived,  with  calm  untroubled  mind, 
Free  from  the  toil  and  anguish  of  our  kind: 
Nor  e'er  decrepit  age  mis-shaped  their  frame. 
The  hand's,  the  foot's  proportions,  still  the  same. 
Pleased  with  earth's  unbought  feasts,  all  ills  removed. 
Wealthy  in  flocks,  and  of  the  bless'd  beloved, 
Death  as  a  slumber  pressed  their  eyelids  down; 
All  nature's  common  blessings  were  their  own; 
The  life-bestowing  tilth  its  fruitage  bore, 
A  full,  spontaneous  and  ungrudging  store: 
They  with  abundant  goods,  mid  quiet  lands. 
All  willing  shared  the  gatherings  of  their  hands." 
Hesiod's  fVorks  and  Days  (Elton's  translation). 

Next  came  the  Silver  Age,  in  which  man  became  less 
pious  and  less  blessed,  incurring  the  anger  of  the  gods, 
who  now  sent  scorching  winds  and  nipping  frosts  to  blight 
that  early  Eden*     In   the  Brazen  Age   that  succeeded, 


THEOGONY  AND   COSMOGONY  19 

men  took  to  fighting  among  themselves.  Between  this 
and  the  more  degenerate  Iron  Age  from  which  he  is 
looking  back,  Hesiod  inserts  an  Heroic  Age,  when  Zeus 
restored  some  of  man's  pristine  virtue  to  carry  him 
through  the  great  Trojan  war  and  other  semi-mytho- 
logical exploits  of  early  Greek  history.  Ovid,  not  so 
much  concerned  with  this  period,  reduces  the  ages  from 
five  to  four,  going  straight  on  from  the  Brazen  to  the 
Iron  Age,  a  change  that  has  its  basis  of  fact  in  the 
gradual  substitution  of  iron  for  bronze  weapons.  The 
Roman  poet's  time  gave  him  too  plain  a  picture  of  human 
depravity. 

"  Enfranchised  wickedness  dominion  hath. 
And  puts  to  flight  truth,  modesty  and  faith: 
Fraud  and  deceit,  and  treachery  and  greed. 
And  souls  that  covet  others'  good  succeed: 
The  sailor  spreads  the  sail  on  seas  unknown; 
From  mountain  slopes  the  patriarch  trees  fall  down, 
Supinely  fall,  and  bound  the  wave  upon; 
And  land  which  common  was  as  air  or  sun, 
Man  metes  and  measures,  marks  and  calls  his  own. 
But  not  content  to  reap  agrestan  stores. 
He  delves  below,  and  Stygian  gloom  explores. 
Metallic  ores — earth's  secret  heart  within — 
He  drags  to  light,  provocatives  to  sin: 
The  noxious  iron,  more  pernicious  gold, 
Parents  of  war  and  blood  and  deaths  untold. 
Man  lived  by  rapine:  thresholds  lost  their  awe, 
Nor  safety  gave  to  guest  or  son-in-law: 
Fraternal  love  was  rare,  and  murders  rife 
Through  nuptial  infidelity  and  strife: 
The  step-dame  culled  the  lurid  aconites. 
The  son  conspired  against  parental  rights: 
Prostrate  was  piety." 

Ovid's  Metamorphoses  (Rose's  translation). 

So  crying  grew  the  sins  of  mankind  that  Zeus  saw 
well  to  destroy  the  rebellious  race.     He  who  might  have 


20  INTRODUCTION 

tried  the  experiment  of  setting  a  better  example,  at  first 
was  minded  to  use  his  celestial  artillery,  but  feared  to  set 
the  heavens  on  fire  as  well  as  the  earth :  immortals  living 
in  such  glass  houses  could  not  safely  throw  thunderbolts. 
So  he  sent  a  deluge  that  is  curiously  analogous  to  our 
Bible  story.  The  fountains  of  the  sky  were  opened  by 
a  strong  south  wind ;  the  deep,  too,  was  stirred  to  wrath 
by  the  trident  of  Poseidon,  called  to  his  brother's  aid ; 
all  the  earth  became  submerged,  so  that  fish  swam  in  the 
highest  branches  among  the  nests  of  birds,  and  the  most 
savage  beasts  of  prey  in  vain  huddled  together  seeking 
flight  from  a  common  fate. 

The  few  men  who  could  escape  that  flood  perished 
by  famine,  all  but  one  dutiful  pair,  able  to  find  refuge 
on  the  last  spot  of  dry  land  at  the  head  of  Mount 
Parnassus.  These  were  Deucalion,  son  of  Prometheus, 
and  Pyrrha,  daughter  of  Epimetheus.  When  the  waters 
subsided  under  a  north  wind,  they  descended  upon  the 
general  wreck,  and  tearfully  sought  counsel  at  a  ruined 
altar  of  Themis,  Titan-daughter  of  Uranus  and  consort 
of  Zeus.  There  a  dark  oracle  bade  them  veil  their  faces, 
ungird  their  garments,  and  throw  behind  them  the  bones 
of  their  mother.  The  pious  Pyrrha  shrank  from  such 
sacrilege ;  but  Deucalion  rightly  guessed  the  riddle  as 
meaning  the  bones  of  their  mother  earth.  Obeying  the 
oracle,  they  threw  stones  behind  them  that,  taking  human 
form  like  statues,  began  to  breathe  with  life,  turned  into 
men  and  women  according  as  they  came  from  the  hand 
of  Deucalion  or  of  Pyrrha.  So  arose  a  new  breed  of 
humanity  that,  whatever  its  other  qualities,  had  at  least 
the  virtue  of  hardness  and  endurance  to  bear  its  lot. 

The  race  thus  re-created  spread  over  the  orbis  terraruniy 
taken  to  be  not  a  globe  but  a  round  flat,  environed  on  all 
sides  by  the  boundless  river  Oceanus,  in  which  stars  and 


THEOGONY  AND   COSMOGONY  21 

sun  had  their  birth  or  setting.  This  disk  was  divided 
lengthwise  by  the  broken  line  of  the  Mediterranean  con- 
tinued into  the  Euxine,  an  idea  of  which  we  have  some 
trace  in  our  use  of  latitude  and  longitude.  To  the  north 
of  this  chasm  Greece  was  fringed  by  Illyrians,  Thracians, 
and  other  semi-barbarous  folk,  shading  off  into  wilder 
Scythians  and  Sarmatians,  beyond  whom  lay  dark-dwell- 
ing Cimmerians,  and  still  farther  the  fabulous  Hyper- 
boreans were  understood  to  enjoy  perpetual  sunshine  and 
bliss  given  them  by  ignorance;  or  perhaps  we  have  here 
a  hint  of  some  glimpse  of  the  far  northern  summer 
with  its  midnight  sun.  Far  to  the  south,  the  "blame- 
less "  Ethiopians  were  credited  with  some  similar  im- 
munities ;  hence,  too,  came  vague  reports  of  pygmies 
who  in  our  time  have  taken  shape  of  flesh  and  blood ; 
the  shores  of  Africa  were  inhabited  by  more  familiar 
races,  while  impassable  deserts  and  mountains  naturally 
made  homes  for  giants  and  monsters.  Atlas  bore  up 
the  world  near  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  where  the  end 
of  all  known  land  was  marked  by  the  Pillars  of  Her- 
cules, beyond  which  indeed  were  caught  dim  glimpses 
of  Gardens  of  the  Hesperides  and  blessed  Islands  of 
Atlantis,  perhaps  not  mere  dreams  if  it  be  true  that  the 
Phoenicians  circumnavigated  Africa  two  thousand  years 
before  Portuguese  mariners.  The  eastern  walls  of  the 
world  were  the  Caucasus  and  Taurus  ranges,  hiding 
dusky  peoples  brought  to  knowledge  by  the  Persian 
invasions,  then  more  clearly  by  the  conquests  of  Alex- 
ander. The  cloudy  prospect  of  Herodotus,  who  makes 
no  doubt  of  Europe  being  larger  than  Asia  or  Africa, 
is  bounded  to  the  east  by  the  deserts  of  Scinde,  to  the 
west  by  the  Cassiterides,  "tin  islands",  that  seem  the 
southern  end  of  our  own  country.  In  that  direction 
classic  views  became  extended,  till  Pausanias  could  telJ 


22  INTRODUCTION 

how  on  that  shore  of  Ocean  "  live  the  Iberians  and  the 
Celts,  and  in  it  is  the  Island  of  Britain  " — toto  divisos  or  be 
Britannos. 

At  the  centre  of  all  stood  Greece,  a  focus  of  light 
for  the  outer  barbarians,  to  whom  yet  she  owed  her 
strength  and  the  seeds  of  her  culture.  The  boss  of  the 
universe  was  the  Thessalian  Olympus,  on  which  dwelt 
the  gods  in  palaces  of  cloud  turned  by  fancy  to 

"golden  houses,  girdled  with  the  gleaming  world: 
Where  they  smile  in  secret,  looking  over  wasted  lands, 
Blight  and  famine,  plague  and  earthquake,  roaring  deeps  and 

fiery  sands, 
Clanging  fights,  and  flaming  towns,  and  sinking  ships,  and 

praying  hands  ". 

Several  mountains  took  the  sacred  name  of  Olympus,  and 
poets  soon  began  to  make  this  a  mere  figure  of  speech, 
raising  their  gods'  home  into  the  skies,  with  the  Milky 
Way  as  a  highroad  of  approach.  In  Homer,  Zeus 
threatens  to  hang  up  earth  and  sea  in  the  air  by  a  rope 
fastened  to  the  crest  of  such  a  cloudy  Olympus. 

Either  openly  or  in  disguise,  the  immortals  were 
much  in  the  way  of  visiting  our  earth,  and  interfering 
with  its  affairs,  as  often  as  not  selfishly  or  capriciously. 
Certain  spots  were  taken  as  specially  favoured  by  their 
resort,  or  as  penetralia  for  the  revelation  of  their  will 
in  mysterious  oracles.  One  of  the  oldest  of  the  oracles 
was  the  dark  grove  of  Dodona  in  Epirus,  where  the 
sighing  of  the  wind  could  be  interpreted  as  the  voice 
of  Zeus.  The  most  famous  and  influential  came  to  be 
that  of  Apollo  at  Delphi  on  the  slopes  of  Parnassus,  a 
spot  looked  on  as  the  earth's  navel,  the  reverence  of 
which  went  far  beyond  Greece,  and  must  have  been 
hoarier  than  the  Olympian  myths.  In  this  theatre  ci- 
stern scenery,  walled    by  stupendous  precipices,   a  cleft   m 

I 


THEOGONY   AND   COSMOGONY  13 

in  the  ground  emitted  mephitic  vapour,  rising  about 
the  tripod  of  the  priestess  who,  when  excited  by  the 
fumes,  was  understood  to  speak  the  god's  mind.  As 
in  the  case  of  other  prophecies,  her  utterances  were 
apt  to  be  obscure,  if  not  worded  to  fit  more  than  one 
meaning  that  would  cover  doubtful  events.  Enormous 
treasures  were  offered  at  the  temple  of  Delphi ;  and 
the  profitable  working  of  the  oracle  seems  to  have  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  a  local  priestly  caste,  who  in  the  end 
destroyed  its  credit  by  interfering  too  manifestly  in 
politics,  with  a  bias  towards  Sparta  as  against  Athens. 
Another  noted  oracle  of  Apollo  was  that  at  Didyma,  on 
the  Ionian  coast.  The  cave  of  Trophonius  in  Bceotia 
was  also  celebrated  as  a  mouthpiece  of  oracular  utterance. 

The  fur  trader  Alexander  Henry  gives  an  elaborate 
account  of  a  Red  Indian  pow-wowing  scene  which  strik- 
ingly matches  with  what  we  know  of  the  classic  oracles. 
The  American  Indians  of  the  French  and  English  war- 
time also  drew  omens  from  the  bones  and  entrails  of 
animals,  as  did  those  ancients  at  their  sacrifices.  All  over 
the  world  the  flight  of  birds  has  been  interpreted  in  signs 
of  good  or  ill  luck,  a  notion  surviving  among  ourselves, 
so  feebly,  indeed,  that  the  appearance  of  such  or  such 
a  number  of  magpies  bears  a  different  omen  in  separate 
parts  of  the  country.  How  strong  this  particular  super- 
stition was  of  old  is  shown  by  the  word  augur^  originally 
a  diviner  by  birds;  and,  while  the  art  was  more  regularly 
organized  by  the  Romans,  the  Greeks  also  looked  on 
birds  as  messengers  of  the  gods,  or  as  ministers  of  divine 
justice.  Prometheus  was  not  the  only  sinner  fabled  to 
be  tormented  by  a  vi?lture. 

The  legend  of  the  Cranes  of  Ibycus  is  familiar  to  us 
through  Schiller's  ballad.  The  poet  Ibycus,  on  his  way 
to  the  Isthmian  Games,  was  murdered  by  two  robbers,  in 


24  INTRODUCTION 

sight  of  a  flock  of  cranes,  to  whom  he  commended  the 
charge  of  vengeance.  Sure  enough,  the  unknown  mur- 
derers sitting  in  the  open  theatre,  the  conscience  of  one 
was  moved  to  exclaim,  "The  cranes  of  Ibycus!"  as  the 
vengeful  birds  came  hovering  over  their  heads ;  then  he 
and  his  comrade,  seized  on  suspicion,  saw  nothing  for 
it  but  to  confess  their  crime,  and  paid  with  their  blood 
for  that  of  the  beloved  poet. 

"  Scarce  had  the  wretch  the  words  let  fall, 
Than  fain  their  sense  he  would  recall. 
In  vain;  those  whitening  lips,  behold! 
The  secret  have  already  told. 
Into  their  Judgment  Court  sublime 

The  Scene  is  changed; — their  doom  is  seal'd! 
Behold  the  dark  unwitnessed  Crime, 

Struck  by  the  lightning  that  revealed!" 

Marching  to  battle  against  Carthaginians,  a  Greek 
army  was  dismayed  to  meet  mules  loaded  with  a  herb 
used  to  wreathe  tombstones;  but  their  leader  turned  off 
the  omen  by  pointing  out  how  the  same  plant  made 
crowns  for  victors  at  the  Isthmian  Games ;  and  confi- 
dence was  fully  established  by  the  appearance  of  two 
eagles  in  the  air.  Not  every  hero  was  strong-minded 
enough,  like  Epaminondas  when  the  sacrifices  went 
against  him,  to  quote  Homer,  that  "there  could  be  no 
better  omen  than  to  fight  for  one's  country".  Not 
every  poet  cared  to  copy  the  boldness  of  Euripides : 
"  The  best  seer  is  he  who  makes  a  good  guess  ".  In  the 
time  of  Socrates  and  Thucydides  the  Athenian  attack 
on  Syracuse  was  ruined  by  an  eclipse  of  the  moon, 
as  the  Spartans  connected  their  naval  defeat  at  Cnidus 
with  an  eclipse  of  the  sun.  From  Thales  to  Alexander, 
indeed,  eclipses  are  recorded  as  repeatedly  influencing 
Greek  history.      A  dream  inspired   Xenophon  to  take 


THEOGONY  AND   COSMOGONY  25 

a  lead  among  the  retreating  Ten  Thousand.  Light- 
ning on  the  right  might  be  hailed  as  a  lucky  omen, 
while  thunder  on  the  left  uttered  a  warning.  A  people 
whose  leaders  and  warriors  were  so  easily  moved  by  signs 
and  wonders,  would  not  neglect  such  active  machinery 
of  bane  and  blessing  as  charms,  curses,  amulets,  and  the 
like.  In  our  time  have  been  unearthed  leaden  figures 
pierced  with  nails,  by  which,  ages  ago,  spiteful  Hellenic 
hearts  practised  upon  the  lives  of  long- forgotten  enemies, 
even  as  George  IV's  unloved  queen,  in  less  earnest 
mood,  worked  an  ancestral  spell  upon  a  wax  image  of 
her  husband. 

Keenly  as  the  Greek  enjoyed  the  beauty  and  sun- 
light of  life,  his  thoughts  were  much  on  death.  Be- 
neath the  exultation  of  the  paean  and  the  rapture  of  the 
dithyrambic  chorus,  we  catch,  in  recurrent  undertone,  the 
"  still,  sad  music  of  humanity  '\  The  poets,  who  for 
him  took  the  place  of  a  priestly  caste  such  as  dominated 
Oriental  minds,  are  seldom  without  a  vein  of  melancholy 
moralizing,  and  do  not  shrink  from  straining  their  eyes 
into  the  darkness  beyond  the  grave.  The  kingdom  of 
the  shades  made  a  congenial  scene  for  myths.  Any 
gloomy  cave  or  volcanic  chasm  seemed  fit  to  be  an  en- 
trance of  the  fearsome  underworld  to  which  man  must 
come,  for  all  his  shuddering.  In  famous  legends  were 
explored  the  incoherent  horrors  of  Hades,  and  its  lower 
deep,  Tartarus.  Round  this  region  coiled  the  black  Styx, 
over  which  the  souls  were  ferried  by  Charon  to  enter  the 
gates  guarded  by  Cerberus;  and  within  flowed  Phlege- 
thon  river  of  fire,  Cocytus  swollen  with  salt  tears,  and 
the  black  flood  of  Acheron,  both  real  streams  whose 
scenery  suggested  a  dreary  Inferno.  In  Tartarus  certain 
noted  evil-doers   were   described  as  bearing   ingeniously 

Dtotracted  torments,  while  other  unhappy  souls  suffered 
(C288)  3 


26  INTRODUCTION 

rather  through  misfortune  than  for  crime.  But  for  the 
common  dead  Hades  made  no  place  of  active  punish- 
ment :  their  sad  lot  was  the  privation  of  light  and  joy 
and  all  of  life  but  a  shadowy  form  keeping  conscious- 
ness enough  to  know  what  it  had  lost.  Then  as  now, 
man  had  his  commonplaces  of  consolation ;  but  when  the 
Greek  spoke  out  his  mind,  he  would  agree  with  the  ghost 
of  Achilles  in  the  sentiment  which  Matthew  Arnold 
transfers  to  the  Balder  of  Northern  Mythology. 

"Gild  me  not  my  death! 
Better  to  live  a  serf,  a  captured  man, 
Who  scatters  rushes  in  his  master's  hall, 
Than  be  a  crowned  king  here  and  rule  the  dead." 

That  the  soul,  unless  stained  by  extraordinary  guilt, 
had  as  little  to  fear  as  to  hope  in  the  homes  of  the  dead, 
is  shown  by  the  obol  placed  in  the  mouth  of  each  corpse 
as  passage-money  for  Charon,  without  which  he  left  the 
ghost  wandering  miserably  on  the  farther  side  for  a  hun- 
dred years.  Within  the  realm  of  shades  the  brightest 
spot  was  the  weird  garden  of  its  queen — 

"  No  growth  of  moor  or  coppice. 
No  heather-flower  or  vine. 
But  bloomless  buds  of  poppies. 
Green  grapes  of  Proserpine, 
Pale  beds  of  blowing  rushes, 
Where  no  leaf  blooms  or  blushes 
Save  this  whereout  she  crushes 
For  dead  men  deadly  wine  ". 

For  exceptionally  favoured  heroes.  Homer  has  a 
glimpse  of  some  dim  Elysian  asylum  far  set  in  the 
western  seas,  a  scene  copied  by  Tennyson  in  his  island 
valley  of  Avilion  : 

"  Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly,  but  it  lies, 


THEOGONY   AND   COSMOGONY  27 

Deep-meadowed,  happy,  fair  with  orchard  lawns, 
And  bowery  hollows  crowned  with  summer  sea". 

Later  poets  Improved  upon  this  vague  hint ;  and  Hades 
itself  was  furnished  with  a  dark  and  a  light  side.  There 
stood  out  of  the  shade  three  stern  judges,  Minos,  Rhada- 
manthus,  and  ^acus,  distinguished  for  their  justice  on 
earth,  before  whom  the  trembling  souls  were  led  by 
Hermes  to  receive  sentence  according  to  their  deeds. 
Those  who  had  done  evil  were  scourged  by  the  Furies 
to  their  appointed  torment ;  but  the  good  passed  into 
blissful  Elysian  fields,  where  the  joys  of  life  lived  again 
for  them,  and  the  water  of  Lethe  blessed  them  with  for- 
getfulness.  Fame,  indeed,  rather  than  virtue  appears  as 
the  title  to  a  heavenly  heritage,  till  philosophers  like  Plato 
made  conscience  the  tormenting  vulture  and  saw  souls 
brought  before  those  judges  branded  with  the  damning 
record  of  their  sins  ;  then  laughing  Luclan  reports  the 
tyrant  Megapenthes  sentenced  by  Rhadamanthus  to  go 
without  the  blessed  draught  of  Lethe  that  he  might  be 
punished  with  memory  of  his  past  life.  Such  conceptions 
came  to  be  complicated  by  the  Pythagorean  idea  of  trans- 
migration of  souls,  as  by  vague  hopes  engendered  In 
dreams  of  poetic  prophecy  and  raptures  of  mystical  initia- 
tion ;  but,  unless  for  choice  spirits,  any  prospect  of  a 
heavenly  home  would  be  dim  and  flickering  In  ages  un- 
willing to  look  steadily  through  the  gates  of  death. 

How  feebly  the  natural  man  pictures  an  abiding  city 
for  his  soul,  is  shown  by  the  importance  the  Greeks  put 
on  the  body  being  laid  to  rest  by  funeral  rites,  without 
which  the  dead  might  wander  disconsolate,  exiled  even 
from  a  home  in  Hades.  In  the  wars  that  distracted  their 
states,  the  victors  would  commonly  let  the  vanquished 
bury  their  dead.     The  strange  cruelty  of  Creon  in  for- 


28  INTRODUCTION 

bidding  the  burial  of  Polynices  called  forth  the  displeasure 
of  gods  and  men  ;  another  case  marked  as  exceptional  is 
the  insolence  of  Achilles  upon  Hector's  body.  In  the 
Gaulish  invaders  who  came  to  found  Galatia,  nothing 
seemed  more  barbarous  than  their  carelessness  as  to  what 
became  of  their  slain  comrades.  The  Greek  practice 
varied  between  inhumation  and  cremation ;  the  latter,  as 
ensuring  the  body  from  outrage,  apparently  preferable, 
till  Christian  ideas  of  resurrection  quenched  the  funeral 
pyre.  Both  forms  of  burial  might  be  elaborately  carried 
out  for  such  a  hero  as  Patroclus ;  but  in  cases  of  haste 
or  necessity  a  mere  sprinkling  with  dust,  as  in  the  story 
of  Antigone,  could  seem  enough  to  satisfy  religious  senti- 
ment. Homer  and  other  authorities  have  hints  of  an 
ancient  custom  of  embalmment  in  honey  or  oil. 

As  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  the  rich  and  powerful 
might  try  to  hoard  up  their  memory  in  imposing 
tombs,  like  that  famed  Mausoleum  erected  for  Mausolus 
of  Caria ;  but  the  comparative  want  of  slave  labour  in 
Greece  and  the  democratic  sentiment  that,  under  one 
form  or  another,  soon  mastered  its  famous  states,  made 
such  monuments  less  costly  than  those  of  the  Asian 
and  African  kingdoms,  while  popular  devotion  and 
artistic  skill  filled  this  land  with  stately  temples,  palaces 
for  the  many  deities,  native  or  imported,  crowding  the 
Pantheon  of  its  faith. 

The  Pantheon 

In  what  might  be  called  the  Augustan  age  of  Olym- 
pus, its  dynastic  founders  had  fallen  into  a  shadowy  back- 
ground ;  and  the  divine  family  stood  out  in  a  new  genera- 
tion of  dominant  forms,  shaped  partly  by  differentiation 
of  function  and  attributes,  partly  by  accretion  of  kindred 


THE   PANTHEON  29 

superstitions.  The  poets  recognize  twelve  great  gods 
and  goddesses — sixteen  is  a  fuller  tale  sometimes  put 
forward — bearing  over  man  and  nature  a  rule  limited  by 
their  own  feuds,  also  now  and  then  by  a  Fate  mistily 
conceived  as  lord  of  all  life,  human  or  supernatural. 
Here  follows  a  list  of  these  divine  personages,  with  some 
outline  of  their  character  and  conduct,  showing  plainly 
how  far  man  has  since  advanced  in  his  religious  ideas. 
Within  brackets  is  given  the,  to  us,  more  familiar  name 
of  the  Latin  deity,  who,  it  must  be  remembered,  had 
often  undergone  modification  in  the  country  of  his 
adoption,  or  may  have  been  originally  a  different  per- 
sonage adapted  through  the  influence  of  that  vassal  that 
led  the  mind  of  its  conqueror  captive.  But  while  Greek 
was  long  almost  a  dead  letter  to  mediaeval  Europe,  the 
Roman  poets  supplied  their  mythological  names  to  point 
the  morals  and  adorn  the  tales  of  clerical  scholarship 
that  handed  on  the  dimmed  lamp  of  learning  through 
the  dark  ages. 

Zeus  (Jupiter,  Jove)  was  the  king  of  earth  and  air, 
and  overlord  of  Olympus,  yet  himself  not  wholly  free 
from  the  power  of  what  must  be.  He  figures  as  a  magni- 
ficent form,  curled  and  bearded,  sometimes  crowned  with 
oak  leaves,  holding  in  his  hands  the  thunderbolts  with 
which  he  scourged  impiety.  The  "Thunderer"  made 
one  of  his  most  familiar  epithets ;  and  Mr.  J.  C.  Lawson 
tells  us  how  in  modern  Greece — where  Artemis  has  be- 
come St.  Artemidos  and  St.  Elias  seems  to  have  sup- 
planted Helios — the  Christian  God  is  still  conceived  of 
as  aiming  celestial  artillery.  An  eagle  attends  him  as 
minister  of  his  will,  and  for  page  or  cup-bearer  he  has 
Ganymede,  a  boy  so  beautiful  that  Zeus  grudged  him  to 
mankind,  and  by  the  agency  of  his  eagle  had  him  stolen 


30  INTRODUCTION 

from  Mount  Ida  to  make  him  immortal  in  heaven.  The 
serpent  is  an  apt  symbol  going  with  any  god,  and  not 
wanting  to  Zeus. 

Besides  Hera,  his  recognized  sultana,  the  father  of 
gods  and  men  had  half  a  dozen  other  immortal  consorts, 
Metis,  Themis,  Eurynome,  Demeter,  Mnemosyne,  and 
Leto.  This  family  did  not  hinder  him  from  seeking 
secret  brides  on  earth,  to  whom  he  was  in  the  way  of 
appearing  transformed  into  a  satyr,  a  bull,  a  swan,  a 
shower  of  gold,  and  so  forth :  with  sly  humour  Lucian 
makes  the  god  complain  that  women  never  love  him  for 
himself  but  always  in  some  unworthy  disguise.  Of  one 
of  his  illicit  loves,  Semele,  daughter  of  Cadmus,  it  is  told 
that  she,  prompted  by  Hera's  jealousy,  desired  to  see 
her  lover  in  all  his  Olympian  majesty,  and  was  burned  up 
by  the  awful  glow  of  that  revelation.  Another  mortal 
maiden  hardly  treated  was  Callisto,  turned  into  a  bear, 
and  in  that  shape  hunted  down  by  her  mistress  Artemis 
at  the  instigation  of  jealous  Hera;  then  all  the  Olympian 
seducer  could  do  for  his  victim  was  to  place  her  and  her 
son  among  the  stars  as  the  Great  and  the  Little  Bear. 

The  god's  visits  to  earth,  indeed,  are  sometimes  on 
errands  of  justice  or  enquiry.  A  pleasing  story  is  that  of 
Philemon  and  Baucis,  the  Phrygian  Darby  and  Joan  who 
entertained  him  as  an  unknown  stranger  in  their  humble 
home,  and  by  divine  gratitude  were  warned  to  fly  from 
the  wrath  about  to  come  on  their  impious  neighbours. 
Moreover,  this  worthy  pair,  invited  to  choose  a  boon, 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  end  their  days  together  after 
spending  them  as  ministers  in  the  temple  to  which  their 
hospitable  cot  was  transformed.  More  awful  was  the 
example  of  Lycaon's  fate,  that  cruel  and  unbelieving  king 
of  Arcadia  who,  to  test  his  guest's  divinity,  placed  before 
Zeus  a  dish  of  human  flesh,  and  for  such  impiety  was 


THE  PANTHEON  ii 

turned  Into  a  wolf,  his  family  being  exterminated  by  light- 
ning, as  seemed  not  unfair  to  early  moralists.  Another 
victim  of  divine  justice  was  Salmoneus,  the  overweening 
king  of  Elis,  who  had  sacrifices  offered  to  him  as  a  god, 
and  even  haloed  himself  with  artificial  thunders  and  light- 
nings, amid  which  a  veritable  bolt  from  heaven  scorched 
up  this  ape  of  divinity  with  his  city  and  all  its  people. 

To  common  men,  Zeus  was  represented  by  many 
statues,  the  noblest  of  them  the  work  of  Phidias,  which, 
forty  feet  high,  in  gold  and  ivory,  passed  for  one  of  the 
Seven  Wonders  of  the  ancient  world,  and  was  hailed 
by  the  Roman  conqueror,  -^Emilius  Paulus,  as  "the 
very  Jove  of  Homer ".  This  adorned  the  rich  temple 
at  Olympia  that  became  chief  seat  of  the  god's  wor- 
ship, while  Dodona,  as  already  mentioned,  seems  his 
oldest  oracle.  Another  famous  oracle  was  that  of 
Jupiter-Ammon  in  the  sands  of  Libya ;  under  this  title 
Zeus  seems  to  have  been  fused  with  an  Egyptian  deity 
and  is  figured  with  horns.  But  indeed  his  epithets  and 
attributes  are  innumerable.  The  Roman  Jove,  who  bore 
a  graver  character  than  his  Greek  fellow-despot,  was 
reverenced  as  Jupiter  Optimus  Maximus,  his  chief  shrine 
being  a  temple  on  the  Capitoline  Hill,  the  St.  Peter's  of 
pagan  Rome. 

Hera  (Juno)  was  the  legitimate  queen  of  Olympus, 
who  by  all  accounts  led  her  husband  a  troubled  life  of 
it,  through  the  jealousy  for  which  he  gave  her  but  too 
much  cause.  Her  other  leading  characteristics  were  a 
pride  that  kept  her  austerely  virtuous,  and  a  self-satisfac- 
tion that,  when  infused  with  anger,  too  often  soured  to 
vindictive  hate ;  and  always  she  proved  quick  to  take 
offence  at  any  slight  on  the  part  of  gods  or  men.  Her 
special  handmaid  was  Iris,  the  rainbow,  that  carried  her 


?2  INTRODUCTION 

messages  to  earth ;  and  her  daughter  Hebe  served  with 
Ganymede  as  cup-bearer  at  the  celestial  table.  Another 
attendant  came  to  be  the  peacock,  when  that  gorgeous 
bird  was  brought  as  a  novelty  to  Greece.  The  cuckoo 
was  also  a  pet  of  hers. 

The  story  goes  that  when  Zeus  courted  lo,  daughter 
of  Inachus  king  of  Argos,  and  transformed  her  into  a 
white  cow,  the  watchful  Hera  sought  to  foil  her  consort's 
intrigues  by  placing  the  animal  under  guard  of  the  mon- 
ster Argus,  who  had  a  hundred  eyes,  no  more  than  two 
of  them  closed  at  a  time.  Zeus,  on  his  side,  employed 
Hermes  to  lull  all  the  eyes  of  Argus  to  sleep  with  the 
spell  of  his  lyre,  and  then  to  slay  him;  and  in  memorial 
of  his  ineffective  service,  Hera  placed  his  hundred  eyes 
on  the  tail  of  a  bird  that  made  an  emblem  of  her  own 
pride.  Also  she  sent  a  gadfly  to  drive  the  unfortunate 
To  through  the  world,  wandering  like  the  horned  moon, 
till  at  last  that  persecuted  maiden  found  rest  in  Egypt, 
where  she  bore  a  son  who  was  the  founder  of  Memphis. 
This  myth  is  typical  of  the  punishments  often  inflicted 
by  a  so  impeccable  and  implacable  goddess  upon  frail 
mortals. 

A  prettier  story  than  most  of  those  told  of  her  makes 
an  old  priestess  drawn  to  Hera's  temple  by  her  two  sons, 
Cleobis  and  Biton,  since  befitting  white  heifers  could  not 
be  found  to  yoke  in  the  car ;  then  the  mother  was  sc 
touched  by  their  filial  service  that  she  prayed  her  patron 
goddess  to  grant  them  the  greatest  boon  of  heaven,  and 
on  coming  out  of  the  temple  found  them  dead  where 
they  had  lain  down  to  sleep  off  their  fatigue.  On  this 
fable  of  Herodotus,  Addison  in  the  Spectator  rather  cyni- 
cally remarks  that  had  their  death  followed  an  act  of 
disobedience,  the  moral  would  have  been  reversed. 

The  "ox-eyed  Hera"  is  Homer's  well-worn  epithet 


THE   PANTHEON  :^2 

to  denote  the  calmly  imperial  looks  attributed  to  the 
queen  of  heaven.  She  was  worshipped  specially  at 
Argos,  at  Samos,  and  in  a  temple  at  Olympia,  older  than 
that  of  Zeus.  The  Roman  Juno  takes  a  more  matronly 
form,  and  appears  rather  as  the  protector  of  married  life 
than  as  the  spiteful  chastiser  of  illicit  love. 

Apollo — with  Phoebus  prominent  among  his  many 
aliases — was  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  beloved 
of  the  Olympians,  close  kinsman  to  that  radiant  sun-god 
who  shines  out  in  so  many  mythologies.  Beside  his 
sister  Selene,  the  moon,  he  figures  openly  as  Helios,  the 
sun,  with  the  by-name  of  Hyperion  under  which  Hamlet 
contrasts  him  with  a  satyr.  He  was  the  son  of  Zeus 
and  Leto  (Latona),  who,  driven  to  Delos  by  the  jealousy 
of  Hera,  there  brought  him  forth  with  his  twin  sister 
Artemis,  so  that  this  island  became  their  favoured  sanc- 
tuary. The  mother  being  still  persecuted  by  jealous  Juno, 
Apollo  was  reared  by  Themis  so  thrivingly  that  at  the 
first  taste  of  nectar  and  ambrosia  he  burst  his  swaddling- 
clothes  and  stood  forth  a  full-grown  youth,  demanding 
the  lyre  and  the  silver  bow  with  which  he  is  usually 
represented.  His  first  great  exploit  was  slaying  the  huge 
serpent  Python,  where  afterwards  arose  the  Delphic 
oracle ;  and  he  became  peculiarly  the  god  of  prophecy, 
as,  in  a  manner,  the  voice  of  heaven  upon  earth.  He 
was  also  the  source  of  life  and  healing,  an  attribute 
specially  manifested  in  his  son  ^sculapius,  father  of  the 
medical  profession,  who  was,  indeed,  slain  by  Zeus  for 
presuming  to  restore  the  dead  to  life ;  but  he  handed 
down  his  science  and  practice  to  his  daughter  Hygeia. 
The  number  of  temples  that  came  to  honour  ^Esculapius, 
hints  how  this  useful  divinity  was  a  double  or  deputy 
of  the  sun-god  in  his  healing  power. 

C0288)  3a 


34  INTRODUCTION 

Yet  where  the  benignant  sun  burns  fiercely  at  times, 
"  far-darting  "  Apollo  could  hurt  as  well  as  heal,  and  his 
arrows  might  kindle  pestilence,  as  in  the  camp  of  the 
Greeks  before  Troy.  His  chariot  might  be  drawn  by 
lions  as  well  as  by  swans.  He  had  a  charge  of  flocks 
and  herds,  and  generally  of  civilizing  arts.  But  his  chief 
renown  was  as  the  patron  of  song  and  music,  hailed  by 
the  stirring  chant  of  the  paean.  Orpheus  was  his  son ; 
and  for  attendants  he  had  the  nine  Muses  —  Clio 
(history),  Euterpe  (lyric  poetry),  Thalia  (comedy),  Mel- 
pomene (tragedy),  Terpsichore  (dance  and  song),  Erato 
(love  song),  Polymnia  (sublime  hymn),  Urania  (astro- 
nomy). Calliope  (epic  poetry).  The  favourite  haunts  of 
this  choir  were  Mount  Helicon  and  Mount  Parnassus 
with  its  Castalian  spring,  in  which  so  many  poets  have 
sought  to  bathe ;  and  few  bards  of  ancient  or  modern 
times  fail  to  invoke  Phoebus  as  their  patron  spirit. 

Pindar  tells  how,  in  his  character  of  Hyperion  (the 
Sun),  Apollo  happened  to  be  out  of  the  way  when  the 
gods  were  dividing  the  earth  by  lot,  and,  thus  left  por- 
tionless, he  asked  of  Zeus  the  volcanic  Rhodes,  which  he 
foresaw  would  rise  from  the  waves.  So  this  island  of 
roses  became  his  special  sanctuary,  renowned  by  its 
Colossus,  a  brazen  image  of  him,  a  hundred  feet  or  so 
high,  another  wonder  of  the  ancient  world,  overthrown  by 
one  of  the  earthquakes  that  have  worked  havoc  here  with 
later  monuments.  He  had  other  local  phases,  like  that 
Smintheus  of  the  Troad,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  mouse- 
god,  the  propitiation  of  destructive  rodents  flourishing 
here  as  among  the  Philistines. 

The  sculptors,  tor  whom  this  comely  god  made  a 
fevourite  model,  usually  show  him  as  a  naked  form  in 
the  bloom  of  noble  and  graceful  manhood,  crowned  with 
laurel,  like  the   famous  Apollo   Belvidere  statue  of  the 


^p^ 


# 


^-      ^.^•: 


O        r 


a,      « 
s 


•Ni 


THE   PANTHEON  35 

Vatican.  "Ever  young  and  fair",  Apollo  seems  to 
reflect  the  brightest  side  of  Greek  religion,  and  by  his 
fine  humanity  to  come  closest  in  touch  with  its  cultured 
worshippers.  He  had  strongly  marked  traits  of  human 
nature,  both  good  and  bad.  Celebrated  was  his  affec- 
tion for  the  fair  boy  Hyacinthus,  whom  he  accidentally 
killed  with  a  quoit  as  they  played  together,  then  as 
m.onument  of  him  caused  a  blue  flower  to  spring  from 
his  blood.  Not  less  renowned  was  Apollo's  love  for  the 
celibate  nymph  Daphne,  who  fled  from  him  in  vain,  but 
was  saved  from  his  embrace  by  being  turned  into  a  laurel, 
to  which  the  baffled  god  gave  evergreen  leaves.  The 
gods  seldom  show  to  advantage  in  their  love  for  mortal 
maidens,  and  this  one  was  apt  to  treat  his  sweethearts 
too  cavalierly,  as  in  the  case  of  Coronis,  mother  of 
^sculapius,  whom  he  slew  on  a  report  of  her  perfidy 
brought  by  a  crow — originally  a  white  bird,  but  now 
turned  black  as  a  punishment  for  scandal-mongering. 
Apollo  was  not  only  human  but  savage  when  he  flayed 
Marsyas  alive  for  presuming  to  compete  with  him  in 
music.  And  his  most  unworthy  exploit  was  joining  his 
sister  Artemis  in  the  cruel  revenge  they  took  on  Niobe 
by  cutting  off  her  whole  flock  of  too  loudly  boasted  dar- 
lings. But,  on  the  whole,  he  appears  in  the  beneficent 
character  hymned  by  Shelley  : — 

"  1  feed  the  clouds,  the  rainbows  and  the  flowers 
With  their  ethereal  colours;  the  Moon's  globe, 
And  the  pure  stars  in  their  eternal  bowers 
Are  cinctured  with  my  power  as  with  a  robe; 
Whatever  lamps  on  Earth  or  Heaven  may  shine. 
Are  portions  of  one  power,  which  is  mine. 

"  I  stand  at  noon  upon  the  peaks  of  Heaven, 
Then  with  unwilling  steps  I  wander  down 
Into  the  clouds  of  the  Atlantic  even; 
For  grief  that  I  depart  they  weep  and  frown: 


36  INTRODUCTION 

WJiat  look  is  more  delightful  than  the  smile 
With  which  I  soothe  them  from  the  western  isle? 

"  I  am  the  eye  with  which  the  Universe 
Beholds  itself  and  knows  itself  divine; 
All  harmony  of  instrument  or  verse, 
All  prophecy,  all  medicine  are  mine, 
All  light  of  art  or  nature; — to  my  song 
Victory  and  praise  in  their  own  right  belong." 

Artemis  (Diana),  Apollo's  twin  sister,  like  himself, 
drew  into  her  name  the  character  of  several  foreign  deities, 
one  of  them  that  renowned  Diana  of  the  Ephesians, 
whose  temple  ranked  among  the  Seven  Wonders.  Her 
name  was  also  given  to  the  cruel  goddess  of  Tauris,  a 
congenial  guest  at  Sparta,  where  the  hardy  lads  scourged 
even  to  death  before  her  altar  look  to  be  a  softened  form 
of  human  sacrifice.  The  native  Arcadian  Artemis,  again, 
was  a  goddess  of  hunting  and  wild  life,  who  went  kirtled 
to  the  knee  on  wooded  mountains,  followed  by  nymphs 
of  like  tastes.  She  was  chaste  to  a  fault,  as  would  appear 
from  the  stories  about  her  victims;  and  her  fatal  jealousy 
would  be  most  easily  aroused  not  by  love  but  by  pre- 
sumption on  the  part  of  mortals.  Actaeon,  who  acciden- 
tally came  upon  her  bathing,  was  turned  into  a  stag  to 
be  torn  in  pieces  by  his  own  hounds.  There  is,  indeed, 
some  hint  of  tender  passages  between  her  and  the  giant 
hunter  Orion ;  but  varying  stories  of  his  fate  make  him 
the  mark  of  her  vengeful  arrows ;  then  he  was  set  in 
heaven  as  a  constellation  along  with  the  Pleiades,  seven 
daughters  of  Atlas,  her  favourite  attendants,  whom  this 
hunter  had  tried  to  pursue.  A  softer  side  to  Artemis 
appears  in  her  identification  with  the  moon,  In  which 
character  she  let  her  coldness  grow  warm  for  the  beautiful 
youth  Endymion,  kissed  by  her  to  sleep  on  Mount 
Latmus,  to  whom  Zeus  allowed  a  choice  between  death 


THE   PANTHEON  37 

and  perpetual  youth  in  dreamy  slumber,  guarded  by  the 
enamoured  goddess. 

"  As  I  seemed  to  gaze  on  her, 
Nearer  she  drew  and  gazed;  and  as  I  lay 
Supine,  beneath  her  spell,  the  radiance  stooped, 
And  kissed  me  on  the  lips,  a  chaste,  sweet  kiss 
Which  drew  my  spirit  with  it.     So  I  slept 
Each  night  upon  the  hill,  until  the  Dawn 
Came  in  his  golden  chariot  from  the  East, 
And  chased  my  love  away."  — Lewis  Morris, 

Athene  (Minerva)  was  another  virgin  goddess,  whose 
cognomen  Pallas  may  have  been  derived  from  an  Athenian 
hero  of  that  name,  while  her  chief  Greek  title  shows  her 
specially  at  home  in  the  city  that  honoured  her  with  the 
renowned  Parthenon.  The  orthodox  story  about  Pallas- 
Athene's  birth  was  that  she  sprang  full-grown  and  full- 
armed  from  the  head  of  her  father  Zeus.  She  is  often 
represented  in  armour,  with  helmet,  breastplate,  and 
shield,  and  so  has  passed  for  the  goddess  of  war;  but 
rather  she  fostered  the  patriotic  defence  without  which 
civilization  were  fruitless,  her  true  spirit  being  for  in- 
vention, the  care  of  the  arts  and  crafts^  and  woman's 
handiwork  especially.  Justice  and  order  grew  up  under 
her  aegis,  so  that  she  was  the  protectress  of  cities.  As  to 
her  particular  regard  for  Athens,  it  is  told  that  Poseidon 
being  her  rival  for  the  place  of  its  godfather,  a  council  of 
the  gods  settled  that  honour  on  whichever  should  offer 
the  most  welcome  gift  to  man.  Poseidon  struck  the 
earth  with  his  trident  to  call  forth  the  horse,  then  Athene 
produced  the  olive,  preferred  as  an  emblem  of  peace  and 
plenty,  and  bearing  a  quasi-sacred  esteem  in  ancient 
Greece,  as  shown  by  the  use  of  its  wood  for  funeral 
pyres  and  of  its  leaves  for  crowns  of  honour. 

The  animals  sacred  to  her  were  the  serpent,  the  cock, 


38  INTRODUCTION 

and  the  owl,  hence  the  proverb  "  owls  to  Athens  ",  trans- 
latable by  our  "  coals  to  Newcastle  ",  a  phrase  that  may 
have  been  prompted  by  the  owl  stamped  on  Athenian 
coins.  She  was  grave,  austere,  dignified,  and  as  a  rule 
beneficent,  free  from  the  scandals  fixed  on  other  god- 
desses ;  even  wanton  Cupid  stood  in  awe  of  this  virgin 
governess.  Once  indeed  she  lost  her  temper  with 
Arachne,  the  Lydian  spinster  who  presumed  to  vie  with 
her;  and  she  appears  in  a  ridiculous  light  when,  on  her 
invention  of  the  flute,  she  set  Olympus  laughing  by  the 
queer  faces  she  made  in  playing  it.  But  she  seldom 
showed  feminine  weaknesses;  and  her  martial  figure  had 
masculine  outlines.  She  plays  the  hero  in  Homer's 
battles,  from  which  other  intervening  goddesses  fly  in 
tearful  dismay  at  their  first  taste  of  bloodshed.  The 
Roman  Minerva  rather  emphasized  her  patronage  of 
letters,  when  a  poet's  verse  could  not  hope  to  flow 
smoothly  invitd  Minervd, 

Aphrodite  (Venus),  the  goddess  of  love,  was  a 
daughter  of  Zeus  according  to  one  story,  but  an  older 
myth  makes  her  spring  from  the  sea  in  the  cataclysm 
that  followed  the  overthrow  of  Uranus.  Her  name, 
"  foam-born  ",  bears  out  such  an  origin ;  and  the  fact  of 
Paphos  on  Cyprus,  Cythera,  and  other  islands  passing 
as  her  favourite  homes,  hints  how  she  came  across  the 
iEgean,  being  no  other  than  the  lustful  Astarte  that 
scandalized  the  Hebraic  conscience.  To  Greece  she 
came  dowered  with  soft  charms,  in  a  chariot  drawn  by 
doves  or  swans,  adorned  with  flowers  and  fruit,  and 
having  as  her  special  ornament  the  cestus  or  girdle,  the 
loan  of  which  was  enough  to  inspire  love,  as  when  Hera 
borrowed  it  to  enhance  her  charms  in  wheedling  Zeus 
out  of  a  favourable  disposition  towards  the  hated  Trojans. 


THE   PANTHEON  39 

At  first  Aphrodite  appears  well  dressed  as  becomes  a 
matron  ;  but  soon  her  form  made  an  excuse  for  sculptors 
and  artists  to  display  their  mastery  of  the  nude,  in 
countless  famous  pictures  and  in  statues  like  those  known 
as  the  Venus  of  Milo  and  the  Venus  de  Medici. 

In  song  and  story,  too,  the  goddess  of  charms  and 
caprice  was  bound  to  be  familiar.  The  tritest  tale  of 
her  loves,  handled  by  Shakespeare,  has  Adonis  for  its 
hero,  the  beautiful  youth  incarnating,  like  Persephone, 
a  myth  of  the  alternation  of  growth  and  decay.  For 
his  sake  Aphrodite  abandoned  heaven,  and  took  to 
the  woods  like  Artemis,  where,  instead  of  nerving  the 
boy  to  hardy  deeds,  she  would  have  had  him  hunt 
only  such  harmless  animals  as  are  the  quarry  of  our 
noble  sportsmen.  But  Adonis,  not  yet  tangled  in  the 
wiles  of  love,  was  unwilling  to  toy  in  the  shade  with 
this  fair  charmer,  and  tore  himself  from  her  embraces 
to  encounter  a  boar  by  which  he  was  wounded  to 
death.  So  moving  was  the  grief  of  the  goddess  that 
Hades  yielded  up  her  darling  to  pass  half  the  year 
with  her  above-ground.  Another  form  of  this  poetical 
conception  of  the  seasons  makes  Adonis  an  orphan 
placed  under  charge  of  Persephone,  who  grew  too  fond 
of  him  to  let  him  go,  till  Zeus  compromised  the  dispute 
by  decreeing  that  he  should  spend  four  months  with 
the  queen  of  Hades,  four  with  Aphrodite,  and  four  at 
his  own  will,  barren  winter  being  left  out  of  account 
in  this  view  of  earth's  recurrent  life.  The  same  notion 
occurs  in  the  myth  of  Persephone  herself,  one  variant 
of  which  divides  her  presence  between  three  seasons, 
while  another  regards  only  the  successive  change  of 
summer  and  winter. 

Cupid,  the   Greek  Eros,  best   knov/n  by  his  Latin 


40  INTRODUCTION 

name,  who  plays  such  pranks  in  myth,  must  have  been 
born  to  Venus  somewhat  late  in  life ;  and  still  later  she 
has  about  her  in  art  a  whole  brood  of  such  tricksy  sprites. 
The  original  Eros  was  a  more  serious  personage,  who 
appears  to  have  grown  backwards  into  a  fat  and  foolish 
boyhood.  We  find  Love  styled  now  the  oldest,  again 
the  youngest  of  the  gods.  It  is  not  very  clear  how 
Cupid  came  into  the  family;  but  poets  as  well  as  artists 
soon  made  much  of  this  wanton  imp,  naked  and  winged, 
his  eyes  sometimes  blindfolded,  with  his  torch  to  kindle 
hearts,  and  the  arrows  he  shoots  in  careless  mischief, 
some  tipped  with  gold  to  quicken,  some  with  lead  to 
palsy  the  pulse  of  love.  The  most  famous  story  about 
him,  that  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  is  not  found  before 
Apuleius  in  the  second  century  of  our  era,  but  no 
doubt  came  from  ruder  myths  the  doings  ascribed  to 
Cupid,  that  are  of  course  much  older  than  Hesiod  or 
Homer.  Eros  had  a  less  famous  brother,  Anteros^  con- 
ceived as  the  avenger  of  slighted  love. 

A  more  staid  attendant  of  Aphrodite  was  Hymen^ 
who  with  his  torch  would  lead  the  nuptial  chorus. 
For  handmaidens  she  had  the  naked  Graces,  Euphro- 
syncy  Aglaia^  and  Thalia^  daughters  of  Zeus,  their  Greek 
title  Charts  sometimes  appearing  identified  with  the  god- 
dess herself,  who  passed  through  a  gamut  of  phases  from 
the  meretricious  mistress  of  sensual  pleasure  to  the 
august  mother  of  all  life.  Her  official  husband  was 
Hephaestus;  but  it  seemed  natural  she  should  play  this 
sooty  clown  false  in  her  favour  to  other  Olympians. 
The  Latin  Venus,  originally  of  more  humble  rank, 
became  exalted  as  mother  of  ^neas,  when  Roman  poets 
transfigured  him  into  a  national  ancestor.  And  Plato 
reminds  how  there  were  two  conceptions  of  the  Greek 
Aphrodite,  the  Uranian  who  represents  the  purer  spirit 


THE   PANTHEON  41 

of  Love,  and  the  Pandemian,  daughter  of  Zeus  and  the 
Titan  Dione,  who  was  more  manifest  to  vulgar  natures. 

Demeter  (Ceres)  was  the  daughter  of  Cronos  by 
Rhea,  through  whom  she  inherited  the  misty  awe  of  G^a, 
the  earth,  oldest  of  deities,  that  mother-spirit  wedded 
by  the  invading  sky-god.  She  figures  most  famously  in 
the  myth  of  her  beloved  daughter  Persephone  (Proser- 
pine), known  also  as  CorB  ("the  maiden"),   who 

"  Gathering  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis 
Was  gathered  ". 

"That  fair  field  of  Enna "  was  in  Sicily,  recom- 
mended by  its  fertility  as  a  favourite  haunt  of  Demeter: 
but  the  scene  of  the  rape  of  Proserpine  is  also  put 
in  Asia.  Mother  and  daughter  were  highly  honoured 
in  Greece,  especially  at  the  Eleusinian  Mysteries  asso- 
ciated with  Demeter's  worship,  which  came  to  be  the 
holiest  rites  of  Greek  religion,  guessed  at  as  a  survival 
of  its  primitive  awe  developed  into  some  mystic  hope 
of  immortality.  This  goddess  of  ancient  date  appeared 
one  of  the  most  beneficent,  by  her  evident  gift  of 
growth,  and  by  the  agricultural  arts  she  was  fabled  to 
have  communicated  to  man  through  her  nursling  Trip- 
tolemus,  who  also  gave  the  world  a  triple  law  called 
by  his  name:  To  honour  parents;  to  reverence  the 
gods  with  sacrifices  of  their  boons;  not  to  harm  man 
nor  beast.  As  inventor,  or  introducer,  of  the  plough, 
he  stands  for  father  of  civilization;  so  Scott  was  humor- 
ously reflecting  a  classic  idea  when  he  christened  the 
unwelcome  improver  of  Shetland  farming  by  the  name 
of  Triptolemus  Yellowley. 

Hestia  (Vesta),  though  named  among  the  great  gods, 


42  INTRODUCTION 

does  not  much  appear  in  their  intrigues,  being  modest 
and  domesticated,  as  became  her  office  of  cherishing  the 
family  hearth.  Yet  her  maidenhood  implied  no  want 
of  charm,  if  it  be  true  that  she  was  wooed  in  vain  by 
Apollo  and  by  Poseidon.  She  was  probably  akin  to 
the  deity  still  worshipped  by  the  descendants  of  Persian 
fire-worshippers,  who  look  on  fire  as  so  sacred  that  a 
Europeanized  Parsee  lights  his  first  cigarette  with  a  sense 
of  doing  something  daringly  profane.  In  the  Prytaneum, 
or  town  hall  of  Greek  cities,  a  public  hearth  was  kept 
burning,  from  which  emigrants  carried  sacred  fire  to  be 
the  seed  of  their  colony's  religion.  The  Roman  Vesta 
seems  a  more  conspicuous  goddess,  of  great  antiquity, 
well  known  to  us  through  the  Vestal  Virgins  bound, 
under  severe  penalties,  to  keep  her  fire  burning  and 
their  lives  as  pure  as  that  of  their  mistress. 

HfiPHi^sTus  (Vulcan)  was  the  god  of  fire  in  its  in- 
dustrial applications,  the  Tubal-Cain  of  the  classic  world. 
Some  accounts  make  him  spring  from  Hera  in  a  non- 
natural  manner,  to  match  her  husband's  prodigious  pro- 
duction of  Minerva ;  but  hers  proved  not  a  success, 
as  the  boy  was  born  lame  and  so  puny  that  she  threw 
him  out  of  heaven,  to  be  reared  by  sea  nymphs  in  a 
submarine  grotto.  Another  story  is  that  when  Zeus 
chastised  his  nagging  wife  by  hanging  her  from  Olym- 
pus, her  heels  weighted  with  a  pair  of  anvils,  Hephaestus 
took  his  mother's  part  and  was  hurled  down,  to  fall 
nine  days — or  only  "  from  morn  to  dewy  eve " — till 
he  came  on  the  island  of  Lemnos  with  a  broken  leg; 
but  he  returned  to  heaven  to  reconcile  the  quarrelsome 
couple.  There  is  also  diflference  of  testimony  as  to 
his  marriage :  various  beautiful  brides  are  ascribed  to 
him,  among  them  Venus  herself,  as  if  in  mockery.     For 


THE   PANTHEON  43 

this  lame  and  ugly  fellow  played  the  low  comedian  ot 
Olympus,  at  whose  hobbling  gait  the  more  elegant  gods 
burst  into  unextinguishable  laughter.  Rough  and  be- 
grimed as  he  was,  there  could  be  no  question  as  to  his 
usefulness.  The  palaces  and  jewels  of  Olympus  were 
his  handiwork,  not  to  speak  of  the  thunderbolts,  as 
well  as  cunning  devices  like  the  net  in  which  he  caught 
Ares  dallying  with  his  faithless  spouse,  and  for  once 
turned  the  laugh  on  his  side.  For  the  heroes  of  myth 
he  made  such  masterpieces  as  the  shield  of  Hercules, 
the  armour  of  Achilles,  and  the  sceptre  of  Agamemnon. 
His  workshops  naturally  came  to  be  placed  in  volcanic 
islands,  where  the  Cyclopes  acted  as  his  journeymen, 
the  idea  of  them  perhaps  taken  from  craters,  each  with 
its  burning  eye.  So  Virgil  places  Vulcan's  forge  off  the 
coast  of  Sicily,  with  the  iEtnean  fires  as  furnace : — 

"  On  their  eternal  anvils  here  he  found 
The  brethren  beating,  and  the  blows  go  round: 
A  load  of  pointless  thunder  now  there  lies 
Before  their  hands,  to  ripen  for  the  skies: 
These  darts,  for  angry  Jove,  they  daily  cast — 
Consumed  on  mortals  with  prodigious  waste. 
Three  rays  of  writhen  rain,  of  fire  three  more, 
Of  winged  southern  winds  and  cloudy  store 
As  many  parts,  the  dreadful  mixture  frame; 
And  fears  are  added,  and  avenging  flame. 
Inferior  ministers,  for  Mars,  repair 
His  broken  axle-trees  and  blunted  war, 
And  send  him  forth  again  with  furbish'd  arms, 
To  wake  the  lazy  war,  with  trumpets'  loud  alarms. 
The  rest  refresh  the  scaly  snakes  that  fold 
The  shield  of  Pallas,  and  renew  their  gold. 
Full  on  the  crest  the  Gorgon's  head  they  place 
With  eyes  that  roll  in  death  and  with  distorted  face." 

— Dryden. 

Ares  (Mars),  son  of  Zeus  and  Hera,  was  the  god 


44  INTRODUCTION 

of  war,  apt  to  be  at  strife  with  his  austere  rival  in  that 
capacity,  Athene,  and  indeed  with  all  his  Olympian 
kinsmen,  among  whom  he  gave  his  brother  Hephaestus 
good  cause  for  jealousy.  In  Greek  mythology  this 
blustering  athlete  cuts  no  noble  figure,  being  beaten  by 
Hercules  and  other  earthly  heroes,  and  showing  some- 
thing of  the  savage  sullenness  and  stupidity  that  come 
natural  to  legendary  giants.  Even  his  father  had  a 
poor  opinion  of  him,  to  judge  by  Homer's  report  of 
his  reception  in  Olympus  when  he  came  complaining 
of  his  hurts  got  by  meddling  in  the  battle  before  Troy. 

"  Of  all  the  gods  who  tread  the  spangled  skies, 
Thou  most  unjust,  most  odious  in  our  eyes! 
Inhuman  discord  is  thy  dire  delight, 
The  lust  of  slaughter  and  the  rage  of  fight; 
No  bound,  no  law  thy  fiery  temper  quells, 
And  all  thy  mother  in  thy  soul  rebels  ". 

Mars  rose  to  a  loftier  position  at  Rome,  where,  as 
father  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  he  took  the  same  pro- 
tecting part  as  Athene  at  Athens.  But  the  Campus 
Martius  of  Rome  was  matched  by  the  Areopagus  of 
Athens,  fabled  to  be  so  called  because  there  the  gods 
held  a  court  to  settle  a  dispute  between  Ares  and 
Poseidon.  At  Sparta  he  would  be  made  much  of:  it 
was  there  Pausanias  found  an  image  of  him  in  fetters 
to  prevent  the  god  from  deserting  this  martial  state. 
In  Italy  he  had  for  comrades  Quirinus^  a  deification  of 
Romulus,  and  Bellona^  who  seems  to  have  been  a  native 
goddess  adopted  by  the  Romans ;  and  in  Greece,  too, 
Eris,  "Strife",  was  his  twin  sister,  while  Terror  and  Fear 
were  his  sons. 

Hermes  (Mercury)  was  another  son  of  Zeus,  by 
Maia,  the  eldest  of  the  Pleiades.     His  special  function 


THE   PANTHEON  45 

was  as  messenger  and  herald  of  the  gods,  in  which 
capacity  he  is  represented  as  a  handsome  and  agile 
youth,  with  winged  sandals  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat 
also  winged,  bearing  the  caduceus^  a  staff  wreathed  with 
serpents,  which  he  got  from  Apollo  under  singular 
circumstances.  No  sooner  was  Hermes  born  than  he 
took  to  stealing,  and  set  out  on  a  raid  against  cattle 
belonging  to  his  brother  Apollo.  Among  the  preco- 
cious babe's  adventures  on  this  sally  was  the  finding  of 
a  tortoise  and  turning  its  shell  into  the  seven-stringed 
lyre.  Having  stolen  fifty  oxen,  he  stoutly  denied  the 
theft,  and  Maia  stood  up  for  her  sleeping  infant's  inno- 
cence, till  Zeus  brought  the  truth  to  light;  then  Apollo 
was  so  delighted  with  the  tortoise-shell  lyre,  that  he 
not  only  pardoned  his  knavish  little  brother,  but  in 
return  for  that  invention  gave  him  a  wand  of  magic 
power.  Autolycus,  the  cunning  robber  of  Mount  Par- 
nassus, might  well  be  called  his  natural  son. 

Hermes  came  to  be  looked  on  as  the  god  of  herds, 
also  of  commerce  and  of  theft,  a  pluralism  of  functions 
natural  enough  when  cattle  made  the  standard  of  value, 
as  shown  in  the  history  of  our  word  pecum2iTj,  He 
was  moreover  the  guardian  of  roads,  of  gymnastic  exer- 
cises, of  clever  inventions,  such  as  the  alphabet  attri- 
buted to  him ;  of  eloquence,  and  of  games  of  chance ; 
in  short  he  appears  a  god  of  all  work,  who  amused  his 
leisure  hours  by  playing  sly  tricks  on  his  fellow  denizens 
of  Olympus,  as  when  he  stole  the  trident  of  Poseidon, 
the  girdle  of  Aphrodite,  and  the  arrows  of  Artemis ;  yet 
for  all  his  mischievousness  he  appears  a  favourite  in  the 
family,  and  his  father's  chosen  henchman  in  his  excursions 
on  earth.  Of  his  own  dealings  with  mortals,  one  is 
moralized  by  Ovid  in  the  story  of  his  love  for  Herse, 
daughter  of  Cecrops,  whose  sister  Agraulos  offered  to 


46  INTRODUCTION 

betray  her  for  a  large  bribe.  But  when  Hermes  came 
back  with  the  money,  Athene  had  punished  Agraulos  )oy 
setting  the  fiend  Envy  to  poison  her  heart,  so  that  she 
now  stood  out  against  letting  the  god  pass  to  her  sister's 
charnber,  till  he  turned  her  into  a  black  stone. 

The  most  dignified  ofllice  of  Hermes  was  conducting 
the  shades  of  the  dead  to  the  world  bel:w.  The  Roman 
Mercury  seems  originally  to  have  been  a  patron  of  trade, 
his  name  connected  with  merx ;  but  he  took  on  the  light- 
hearted  and  slippery  ways  of  the  Greek  god,  that  have 
given  an  alias  to  the  metal  quicksilver.  His  most 
famous  statue  seems  to  have  been  that  by  Praxiteles, 
found  in  a  mutilated  state  at  Olympia.  Small  images  of 
Hermes  were  very  common  in  Greek  life,  set  up  on 
roadways  and  at  the  gates  of  houses,  their  faces  some- 
times painted  black  and  white  to  symbolize  the  ofiices  of 
the  god  above  and  below  ground,  and  often  perhaps 
mere  fetish  blocks  such  as  that  on  which  Lucian  tried 
his  prentice  hand  as  a  carver  with  sore  result. 

Poseidon  (Neptune)  should  have  been  introduced 
earlier,  as  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  gods,  brother  of  Zeus, 
against  whom  he  sometimes  ventured  to  rebel,  but  as  a 
rule  rested  content  with  his  satrapy  of  the  sea,  under 
which  he  had  a  marvellous  golden  palace,  its  grottos 
adorned  with  corals  and  sea-flowers,  and  lit  with  phos- 
phorescent glow.  Rejected  as  patron  of  Athens,  in 
favour  of  his  accomplished  niece,  he  was  understood  to 
have  a  special  regard  for  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth,  that 
focus  of  navigation  from  east  and  west.  His  sceptre  was 
the  trident  fishing-spear  of  the  Mediterranean  ;  and  he 
rode  forth  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  dolphins,  sea-horses,  or 
other  marine  monsters.  Horses  came  into  his  province 
as  well  as  waves,  an  idea  not  far  to  seek  in  the  com- 


THE   PANTHEON  47 

parison  of  leaping  and  rearing  billows  that  has  occurred 
to  many  a  poet.  Naturally,  he  had  his  moods,  in  some 
of  which  he  could  be  very  terrible  to  maritime  mortals, 
for,  besides  storms,  he  raised  disastrous  floods  and  de- 
vouring monsters  of  plague  and  famine.  His  wife  was 
the  sea  nymph  Amphitrite^  who  still  accompanies  him  on 
our  crossing-the-line  mummeries.  By  her  he  had  Triton 
and  other  sons ;  but  he  would  not  have  been  a  right  god 
without  giving  her  cause  for  jealousy,  as  against  that  un- 
fortunate Scylla  whom  she  got  turned  into  a  six-headed 
bugbear  haunting  the  straits  of  Sicily,  a  caverned  whirl- 
pool opposite  the  rock  Charybdis,  into  which  a  daughter 
of  Poseidon  had  been  transformed  by  angry  Zeus.  These 
perils,  not  now  so  apparent  to  sailors,  were  noted  in  the 
proverb,  Incidit  in  Scyllam  qui  vult  vitare  Charybdin. 

The  powers  of  water  take  changing  shapes,  like  that 
Proteus^  son  of  Poseidon,  who,  guarding  his  herd  of  seals, 
had  to  be  caught  and  held  fast  before  he  would  give  forth 
his  oracles.  He  might  be  confused  with  Nereus^  a  bene- 
volent Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  who  presided  over  calm 
weather,  and  with  his  fifty  daughters  the  Nereides^  was 
ready  to  help  friendly  mariners.  Oceanus  was  an  older 
god,  son  of  Uranus,  with  an  enormous  family  of  Ocean- 
ides,  among  them  the  Electra^  whose  tears  were  drops  of 
amber,  through  which  her  name  passed  to  that  force  that 
has  been  so  heavily  enslaved  by  modern  science.  Glaucus 
seems  a  later  deity,  immortalized  against  his  will  by  falling 
into  the  sea.  The  eldest  son  of  Oceanus  was  Achelous^ 
guardian  of  the  largest  Greek  river,  and  rival  of  Hercules 
for  Deianira ;  he  had  some  thousands  of  brothers,  himself 
the  most  famous  among  a  large  family  of  river  gods. 
Thetis^  mother  of  Achilles,  was  daughter  of  one  of  those 
slippery  beings,  whom  Peleus  won  by  being  able  to  hold 
her  elusive  form ;  then,  Eris  (Strife),  not  invited  to  their 


48  INTRODUCTION 

marriagej  played  the  part  of  the  wicked  witch  in  our  fairy 
tales,  as  appears  in  the  Tale  of  Troy.  But  Thetis  is  con- 
nected with  a  legend  of  peace.  She  it  was  that,  when 
Halcyone  threw  herself  into  the  sea  after  her  shipwrecked 
husband  Ceyx,  changed  them  both  into  the  birds  whose 
nest  was  taken  to  float  upon  the  sea  in  the  calm  of 
"halcyon  days". 

Pluto,  not  having  his  seat  on  Olympus,  hardly  ap- 
pears among  the  twelve  great  gods,  large  as  this  grim 
lord  of  the  underworld  must  have  loomed  before  super- 
stitious minds.  The  name  of  Hades  he  shares  with  his 
realm;  and  Dis  is  another  alias  that  at  first  seems  to 
have  belonged  to  Zeus.  Another  title  of  both  realm 
and  ruler,  OrcuSy  is  still  very  active  in  Italian  folklore. 
The  most  dreadful  of  the  gods  was  conceived  as  a  dark- 
browed  form,  seated  on  an  ebony  throne,  or  driving  in  a 
chariot  drawn  by  coal-black  steeds ;  he  brandishes  a  two- 
pronged  spear ;  and  among  his  possessions  is  a  helmet 
that  has  the  property  to  cast  a  spell  of  invisibility.  Sacri- 
fices to  him  were  offered  at  dead  of  night,  the  blood  of 
victims  being  allowed  to  run  into  trenches  from  which  it 
might  trickle  down  to  his  underground  palace.  The 
one  bright  spot  in  his  life  was  his  love  for  Persephone^ 
whom  he  carried  off  to  share  his  gloomy  throne.  But 
this  fair  form  became  infected  by  the  spirit  of  the  dark 
abode  in  which  she  must  dwell  half  the  year,  so  that  in 
a  shadowy  manner  she  seems  to  pass  into  the  fearsome 
form  of  Hecate^  the  goddess  of  witchcraft  and  other  weird 
doings  that  haunts  crossroads  or  lonely  scenes  of  murder. 
Such  an  ugly  shade,  indeed,  appears  to  flicker  as  cast  either 
by  Artemis  or  by  Persephone,  while  it  is  as  "  handmaid  " 
to  the  latter  that  Hecate  appears  in  a  so-called  Homeric 
hymn. 


THE   PANTHEON  49 

Dionysus  (Bacchus)  was  a  god  who  came  to  Greece 
with  the  culture  of  the  vine,  and  brought  along  with  him 
eastern  orgies  that  had  their  religious  side.  Son  of  Zeus 
by  Semele,  he  was  ever  youthful,  handsome  and  eiFeminate, 
clad  in  a  panther  skin,  crowned  with  vine  leaves  and 
grape  bunches  round  which  his  locks  curled  like  tendrils, 
carrying  as  his  sceptre  the  thyrsus^  a  wand  wreathed  with 
ivy  or  other  vines ;  and  his  invocation  was  the  excited 
dithyramb,  contrasting  with  the  sublime  paean  of  Apollo. 
Drama  began  with  the  choruses  that  celebrated  his 
festival  at  Athens.  The  Dionysia,  transported  into  Italy 
as  Bacchanalia,  were  the  Carnival  days  of  the  ancient 
world,  when  the  Saturnalia  of  Rome  gave  a  hint  for  our 
Christmas  revelry.  Bacchus  had  travelled  far  and  wide, 
a  long  visit  to  India  being  one  of  his  wanderings,  on 
which  he  may  have  picked  up  the  tigers,  lynxes,  or 
panthers  that  drew  his  chariot.  His  favourite  attendants 
were  goat-footed  Satyrs,  headed  by  the  purple-faced 
Silenus,  who  made  a  disreputable  boon  companion.  Also 
he  led  about  a  rout  of  wild  women,  who,  as  will  be  when 
women  take  to  drink,  were  given  to  fits  of  scandalous 
excitement.  These  Maenads,  Bacchants,  or  whatever 
they  might  be  called,  danced  along  intoxicated  with  a 
rabid  frenzy  that  did  not  stick  at  the  blood  of  any  coldly 
prudent  man  who  shunned  their  noisy  enthusiasm.  So 
it  was  with  Pentheus,  king  of  Thebes,  who  was  for  sternly 
putting  down  this  exotic  worship;  but  when  he  thought 
to  spy  on  its  rites  in  secret,  the  god  beguiled  him  into 
shameful  disguise  as  a  woman ;  then  his  own  mother 
headed  the  crew  that  pulled  him  from  the  tree  in  which 
he  had  ensconced  himself,  and  tore  him  to  pieces  in  their 
madness.  Another  king,  Lycurgus  of  Thrace,  who  would 
have  restrained  such  inspired  excesses  was  punished  by 
being  driven  mad  himself. 


5c  INTRODUCTION 

An  amusing  story  is  that  of  the  pirates,  who  caught 
Dionysus  and  would  have  sold  him  as  a  slave;  only  their 
prudent  steersman,  guessing  this  to  be  a  god,  warned 
his  comrades  what  might  come  of  such  impiety.  Sure 
enough,  the  prisoner  easily  broke  from  their  fetters,  the 
ship's  masts  bloomed  out  in  vines  and  ivy  wreaths,  the 
sails  dripped  perfumed  wine,  and  all  around  rang  the 
music  of  an  invisible  choir.  By  such  prodigies  the  sailors' 
eyes  were  opened  too  late :  their  captive  took  the  shape 
of  a  lion,  backed  by  a  bear  that  began  by  tearing  the 
captain ;  then  the  rest  jumped  overboard  to  be  changed 
into  dolphins,  all  but  that  considerate  steersman,  who  at 
the  god's  request  set  him  ashore  at  Naxos,  where  he  had 
his  celebrated  meeting  with  Ariadne.  A  rare  hint  of 
temperance  principles  appears  in  the  legend  of  Icarius, 
an  Athenian  who  entertained  this  strange  god,  and  being 
taught  in  return  the  power  of  the  grape,  was  beaten  to 
death  by  his  ungrateful  neighbours,  who  took  their  first 
experience  of  intoxication  to  be  no  better  than  poisonous; 
then  his  daughter  Erigone,  led  to  his  grave  by  the  dog 
Maera,  hung  herself  above  it  for  grief,  and  as  reward 
of  her  filial  piety,  she  along  with  her  father  and  the 
faithful  dog  were  placed  as  stars  in  the  Great  Bear 
constellation. 

Bacchus,  like  Cupid,  belonged  to  a  later  generation 
of  gods,  their  nature,  indeed,  in  general  so  fissiparous 
that  they  had  much  power  of  adding  to  their  numbers, 
while  they  were  liable  to  a  confusion  of  character  and  a 
multiplication  of  names.  Zeus  and  the  rest  came  to  be 
regarded  under  a  variety  of  attributes  and  epithets,  which 
make  them  almost  diflFerent  personages  in  local  worship. 
In  the  Greek  world,  confusion  was  confounded  by  the 
importation  of  avowed  foreign  deities  like  I  sis  and  Serapis, 


THE    PANTHEON  51 

till  irreverent  Luciaii  could  represent  the  old  gods  as 
seriously  disturbed  through  the  intrusion  of  parvenu 
strangers,  crowding  Olympus  with  a  mob  of  all  nations 
and  languages,  so  that  nectar  and  ambrosia  are  like  to 
run  short.  To  abate  this  scandal,  the  satirist  suggests  a 
celestial  committee  of  privileges,  seven  in  number,  three 
elected  from  the  ancien  regime  of  Saturn  and  four  from 
the  twelve  great  gods  of  the  Jovian  dynasty,  who  should 
be  empowered  to  examine  the  titles  of  pretenders  to 
godship.  This  task  seems  too  hard  for  mere  human 
patience ;  but  before  giving  it  up,  we  must  at  least 
mention  certain  divine  or  quasi -divine  personages  and 
conceptions  that  flit  over  the  shifting  background  of 
classical  mythology. 

Plutus,  the  god  of  wealth,  was  a  different  personage 
from  Pluto,  understood  to  be  in  charge  of  the  irritamenta 
malorum  stored  underground.  He  would  not  take  his 
grimy  form  till  the  precious  metals  came  into  use  as 
means  of  exchange;  and  the  ancients  made  him  blinded 
by  Zeus,  poets  and  moralists  in  all  ages  having  reason 
to  understand  that  riches  do  not  always  go  with  merit. 
In  the  Theban  temple  of  Tyche  (Fortune)  he  appears 
as  a  child  in  her  arms,  she  also  being  represented  as 
blindfold,  sometimes  winged,  sometimes  standing  on  a 
slippery  ball,  holding  the  Cornucopia,  or  horn  of  plenty, 
from  which  she  pours  out  her  gifts  so  carelessly.  Plutus 
belongs,  of  course,  to  the  same  family  of  abstractions 
as  Momus  (mirth),  Comus,  the  presiding  genius  of 
revelry,  and  that  Priapus^  whose  figure  did  not  strike 
the  ancients  as  unfit  for  polite  society,  while  he  had 
serious  functions  as  guardian  of  flocks,  of  swarming 
bees,  and  of  fruitfulness  in  general. 

A   word   should   be   said    in   passing   as   to   certain 


52  INTRODUCTION 

other  names  apparently  peculiar  to  Roman  mythology, 
though  perhaps  handed  down  from  Etruscan  supersti- 
tions of  kindred  origin  to  those  of  Greece.  The  most 
renowned  of  these  is  Janus^  the  god  of  gates,  whose 
principal  shrine  at  Rome  was  closed  in  time  of  peace, 
twice  or  thrice  only,  it  is  said,  during  seven  centuries, 
and  notably  at  the  birth  of  Christ,  as  Milton  proclaims 
in  his  ode  for  the  Nativity.  He  is  represented  with 
two  faces,  to  look  both  ways.  Janus  has  passed  for 
deification  of  an  ancient  hero-king ;  but  was  probably 
a  sun-god  who  opened  the  gates  of  heaven  ;  and  he 
appears  to  have  been  originally  the  chief  god  of  Rome 
till  supplanted  by  Jupiter.  Terminus  was  the  god  of 
boundaries  and  landmarks,  not  left  without  work  in  a 
land  of  small  encroaching  communities.  Libitina  pre- 
sided over  funerals,  as  Lucina  over  childbirth.  Fortuna 
seems  here  to  have  come  to  higher  honour  than  did 
her  sister  Tyche  in  Greece.  The  Lares  were  the  Roman 
spirits  of  ancestors ;  the  Penates^  household  gods ;  the 
ManeSy  shades  of  the  dead,  who  appear  in  more  ghastly 
shape  as  Lemures,  Lami^,  and  Larv^;  then  every  Roman 
went  through  life  attended  by  his  Genius^  as  the  Red 
Indian  by  his  manitou  or  totem  spirit.  In  Greece,  also, 
man's  body  was  shadowed  by  his  Kef^  a  ministering 
wraith  whose  invisible  activities  are  hard  to  catch;  and 
he  might  believe  himself  guided  by  his  Daimon^  a 
guardian  spirit  that  for  us  has  taken  uglier  significance. 
Manifold,  indeed,  were  the  bodiless  shapes  called 
into  imaginary  existence  by  the  Greek  aptitude  for  per- 
sonification. There  was  Ananke  (necessity),  before  whom 
the  very  gods  must  bow.  Ate  (the  spirit  of  evil)  sowed 
crimes  among  men.  Nemesis  (retribution)  came  after  the 
wicked  with  slow  but  sure  foot.  Nike  (victory).  Dike 
(justice),  and   Themis  (law)  were  all  vaguely  conceived 


THE   PANTHEON  53 

as  airy  beings.  Pausanias  records  altars  or  temples  to 
such  abstractions  as  Energy,  Mercy,  Shame,  Rumour, 
and  Persuasion.  Death  and  his  brother  Sleep  make  a 
metaphor  as  old  as  Homer  or  Hesiod ;  and  Dreams 
came  from  above  as  messengers,  false  ones  issuing 
through  a  flattering  sheet  of  ivory,  but  the  true  from 
a  gate  of  horn,  to  whisper  to  mortals  locked  in  the 
arms  of  Morpheus,  They  were  children  of  wide- 
mantled  Night,  who  readily  became  a  personage,  like 
Eos  (Aurora),  the  Dawn;  Phosphorus  and  Hesperus^  the 
Morning  and  the  Evening  Star,  and  a  host  of  other 
shining  ones,  attendants  of  the  Moon  and  the  Sun, 
whose  four  horses  had  their  names  and  local  habita- 
tion in  the  stables  of  the  sky.  So  had  the  four  winds, 
Boreas^  Eurus^  Zephyrus^  and  Notus^  children  of  Eos  and 
Astraea,  the  virgin  star,  those  airy  beings  kept  shut 
up  in  the  cave  of  Molus^  whence  at  command  they 
issued  forth  as  winged  youths  to  do  the  will  of  the 
gods.  The  wife  of  Zephyrus  was  Chloris^  who  became 
more  famous  as  the  Roman  Flora ^  the  flower  goddess, 
comrade  of  Pomona^  whose  spouse  was  Vertumnus^  the 
Season  god,  wooing  her  successively  as  a  ploughman, 
a  reaper,  a  grape  gatherer,  and  as  an  old  woman  white 
with  winter  snows,  at  last  in  the  composite  present- 
ment of  a  beautiful  youth.  The  Seasons  {Horce)  were 
also  incarnated  as  lovely  maidens,  Eunomia^  Dike^  and 
Irene^  daughters  of  Zeus  and  Themis,  going  along  with 
the  Graces  in  attendance  upon  Aphrodite  or  Apollo. 
The  mostly  animal  signs  of  the  Zodiac  belong,  of  course, 
to  older  observation  than  that  of  Greek  fancy. 

The  Seasons  sometimes  appear  as  two  or  four;  but 
it  has  already  been  mentioned  how  the  Greeks  might 
leave  winter  out  of  account.  It  is  noticeable  how  their 
imagination  of  female  forms  usually  goes  in  triads,  while 


54  INTRODUCTION 

the  same  tendency  was  less  marked  in  the  case  of  gods. 
There  were  three  Fates,  Moirai  (Parcae) — Clotho^  Lachesis^ 
and  Atropos — to  spin  and  cut  the  thread  of  life.  Three 
also  were  the  Furies — Tisiphone^  Alecto^  and  Megara — 
whose  proper  title  was  the  Erinyes^  but  men  gave  them 
the  flattering  name  of  Eumenides  (the  Gracious  Ones),  as 
our  mischievous  fairies  were  styled  "the  good  people", 
or  the  "  men  of  peace  ".  The  Graia^  ^r^y  cousins  of 
the  Gorgons,  may  have  been  originally  represented  as 
two,  having  one  eye  and  one  tooth  between  them,  but 
they  also  pass  into  a  trinity.  The  Muses  are  three 
times  three.  Three  goddesses  contend  for  the  prize  o/ 
beauty,  and  Psyche,  like  Cinderella,  has  two  sisters. 

Modern  Greek  folklore,  that  but  blurredly  reflects 
the  ancient  mythology,  runs  much  to  the  sets  of  three 
brothers,  so  familiar  in  our  mclrchen^  of  whom  the 
youngest  commonly  is  the  lucky  one;  whereas  this 
feature  is  not  marked  in  the  old  Greek  stories,  so  far  as 
male  characters  are  concerned.  There  are  three  supreme 
deities;  but  Pluto  seems  not  to  rank  with  his  brothers; 
and  of  the  three  judges  in  the  lower  world,  only  Minos 
and  Rhadamanthus  appear  as  holding  regular  sessions. 
Two  brothers  seem  more  common  than  three  in  ancient 
stories.  Miss  Jane  Harrison  suggests  that  three  figures 
would  lend  themselves  to  artistic  composition  ;  but  this 
hardly  explains  why  Greek  heroes  are  grouped  in  triads 
less  often  than  heroines  ;  and  several  scholars  to  whom  I 
have  put  the  point  can  offer  no  explanation.  Mr.  J.  C. 
Lawson,  in  his  scholarly  comparison  of  ancient  and 
modern  superstitions  in  Greece,  finds  that  there  three 
has  come  to  be  a  number  of  sinister  associations. 

It  were  a  labour  of  Hercules  to  present  a  complete 
list  of  all  those   beings  of  earth  and  air,  of  water  and 


THE   PANTHEON  55 

darkness,  that  flickered  into  imaginary  shape.  Every 
river  and  fountain  might  have  \ts  nymph  or  Naiad, 
every  tree  its  Dryad;  the  mountains  were  haunted  by 
Oreades,  as  the  forests  by  half-brutal  Satyrs.  Unknown 
regions,  then,  were  readily  peopled  by  Giants,  Centaurs, 
Chimaeras,  Amazons,  Sirens,  Cyclopes,  Hyperboreans,  or 
other  fabulous  creatures,  such  as  long  afterwards  would 
be  looked  for  across  the  Atlantic  by  the  contemporaries 
of  Columbus,  in  their  turn  taking  omne  ignotum  pro  magni- 
fico^  not  to  say  horrifico. 

Among  what  may  be  called  the  half-comic  features  of 
mythology,  stands  out  one  figure  that  grew  to  singular 
importance  from  humble  beginnings.  Pan  (Faunus) 
seems  to  have  been  a  country  sprite  like  our  Puck, 
a  horned,  sharp-eared,  and  goat-footed  creature  born 
among  the  wooded  hills  of  Arcadia,  where,  angrily  dis- 
turbed in  his  noonday  sleep,  he  would  sometimes  appear 
to  startle  travellers,  and  no  wonder,  when  the  nymph 
who  bore  him  to  Hermes  was  dismayed  at  the  sight 
of  her  misshapen  offspring.  His  harsh  voice  was  fabled 
to  have  served  as  volunteered  artillery  at  the  battle  of 
Marathon,  where  it  threw  the  Persians  into  panic  fear. 
Another  word  we  get  from  him  is  the  pan-pipe,  which 
he  is  said  to  have  invented  when  the  nymph  Syrinx 
fled  from  his  arms,  and,  on  her  prayer  for  rescue,  was 
turned  into  a  reed,  which  he  adapted  to  such  good 
purpose  as  to  rival  the  music  of  Apollo's  lyre.  He 
came  to  be  looked  on  as  the  god  of  woodland  jollity, 
of  herds  and  flocks,  of  fertility,  and  of  country  life  in 
general.  From  being  chief  of  the  Satyrs,  a  hanger-on  of 
Dionysus,  Aphrodite,  and  other  unedifying  high  society, 
he  rose  to  rank  as  one  of  the  most  active  of  the  gods. 
By  a  confusion,  no  doubt,  of  his  name  with  the  word  pan 
(all),  he  was  latterly  looked  upon  as  personification  of 


c6  INTRODUCTION 

nature ;  and  at  the  dawn  of  a  new  era  "  Universal  Pan  '* 
had  so  far  come  to  represent  Olympus  that  a  dubious 
legend  makes  the  birth  of  Christ  hailed  by  a  supernatural 
voice  proclaiming  to  Greece,  "  Great  Pan  is  dead  ". 

"The  oracles  are  dumb; 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine, 
Can  no  more  divine, 
With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving  ". 

But  Pan  was  dethroned  rather  than  dead,  living 
on  in  Christian  conceptions  to  shape  the  horned  and 
cloven-footed  devil  of  mediaeval  mythology.  Nay,  so 
great  loomed  this  vanished  fame  in  after  ages,  that 
there  are  traces  of  strange  comparison  between  him  and 
his  conqueror,  so  that  Milton  does  not  stick  at  using 
this  name  to  hymn  the  advent  of  our  religion — 

"  Full  little  thought  they  than 
That  the  mighty  Pan 
Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below  ". 

Demigods  and  Heroes 

The  foregoing  account  of  the  gods  indicates  how 
Greek  mythology  included  many  semi-divine  personages, 
of  whom  less  need  be  said  here,  since  they  figure  largely 
in  the  tales  that  follow.  A  salient  instance  of  this  double 
nature  is  supplied  by  the  Dioscuri^  Castor  and  Polydeuces 
(Pollux),  hatched  from  the  same  swan's  egg  with  their 
sister  Helen,  that  teterrima  causa  of  so  many  souls  going 
down  to  Hades  before  their  time.  Though  they  had  Zeus 
for  father,  fate  did  not  provide  immortality  enough  to 
go  round  this  family ;  and  an  oracle  let  the  two  brothers 
know  that  one  of  them  was  destined  to  rank  among  the 


DEMIGODS   AND    HEROES  57 

gods,  while  the  other  must  share  the  common  lot  as 
putative  son  of  the  Lacedaemonian  king  Tyndareus. 
The  brothers,  devotedly  attached  to  each  other,  and 
ignorant  which  of  them  was  mortal,  had  no  wish  but  to 
die  together.  Dis  aliter  visum :  in  a  quarrel  with  rival 
suitors  Castor  was  slain,  and  all  Zeus  could  do  for  him 
was  to  strike  down  the  slayer  with  a  thunderbolt.  But 
Pollux  took  his  brother's  loss  so  much  to  heart,  that 
means  were  found  to  compromise  with  the  decree  of  fate 
by  sharing  the  boon  of  divinity  between  them,  so  that 
they  spent  together  day  about  on  Olympus  and  in  Hades. 
These  semi-immortal  personages  were  also  inconsistently 
placed  among  the  stars  as  the  Gemini.  On  earth  they 
rose  to  quasi-divinity,  first  at  Sparta,  the  place  of  their 
human  origin,  and  their  worship  spread  far  over  the 
Greek  world  into  Italy.  Castor  having  been  renowned 
as  a  charioteer  and  Pollux  as  a  boxer,  they  were  looked 
on  as  patrons  of  public  games,  along  with  Hermes  and 
Hercules.  It  is  less  obvious  how  they  came  to  be  the 
special  protectors  of  mariners,  like  that  "sweet  little 
cherub  **  sitting  up  aloft  as  agent  of  the  modern  Nep- 
tune's goodwill  to  poor  Jack  :  sailors  of  the  Latin  nations 
still  connect  with  their  name  the  flitting  gleams  some- 
times seen  on  a  ship's  rigging.  On  land,  they  appear  as 
goodly  youths  nobly  mounted  on  white  chargers,  who 
came  to  help  of  favoured  armies  at  a  critical  moment. 
As  Theseus  rose  from  the  dead  to  give  ghostly  aid  to 
his  Athenians  on  the  plain  of  Marathon,  so  at  the  battle 
of  Lake  Regillus  the  Roman  Dictator  found  that  princely 
pair  riding  beside  him  to  victory. 

"  Back  comes  the  Chief  in  triumph, 
Who,  in  the  hour  of  fight. 
Hath  seen  the  Great  Twin-Brethren 
In  harness  on  his  right. 
(C288)  * 


j8  INTRODUCTION 

Safe  comes  the  ship  to  haven, 
Through  billows  and  through  gales. 
If  once  the  Great  Twin-Brethren 
Sit  shining  on  the  sails." 

Pausanias  mentions  a  case  of  this  belief  being  turned  to 
hostile  account :  when  the  Spartans  were  celebrating  the 
feast  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  two  young  Messenians, 
dressed  for  the  part  in  white  tunics  and  purple  cloaks, 
rode  into  the  camp  to  be  received  with  awe  as  immortals^ 
then  galloped  through  cutting  and  stabbing  the  deceived 
worshippers. 

Three  hundred  years  or  so  before  our  era,  the  Greek 
writer  Euhemerus  boldly  applied  to  the  national  mytho- 
logy an  explanation  identified  with  his  name  :  that  the 
gods  had  been  magnified  out  of  renowned  men.  The 
process  appears  in  the  case  of  Alexander  the  Great,  who 
claimed  descent  both  from  Achilles  and  Jupiter-Ammon, 
and,  out  of  policy  or  vanity,  made  a  point  of  having  his 
quasi-divinity  recognized  in  Greece.  We  know  how 
cheap  deification  came  to  be  when  not  only  emperors 
were  thus  raised  to  the  skies  as  matter  of  course,  but 
Antinous,  the  minion  of  Hadrian,  had  a  temple  built  in 
his  honour,  and  sacrifice  was  offered  to  the  images  of  the 
famous  physician,  Hippocrates.  A  grateful  pupil  of  the 
Academy  erected  an  altar  to  Plato.  In  earlier  times 
any  benefactor  or  terror  of  men  would  readily  take  on 
a  supernatural  character,  at  whose  tomb  sacrificial  rites 
seemed  due.  Everywhere  the  first  sketches  of  history 
show  heroic  personages,  real  or  fictitious,  looming  out  in 
proportions  that  seem  more  than  mortal,  like  Achilles 
and  JEne^s.  Romulus  and  Remus  precede  our  own 
Arthur  in  having  ascribed  to  them  some  origin  or  end 
distinguished  from  that  of  common  men.  Hiawatha 
was  a  Red  Indian  Triptolemus  who  played  the  same  part 


DEMIGODS   AND    HEROES  59 

5n  bringing  the   sacred  boon  of  corn  among  his  fellow 
barbarians. 

All  over  the  world  indeed  the  tomb  of  any  hero  tends 
to  become  a  shrine.  In  Greece  this  hero-worship  was 
manifolded  by  the  number  of  rival  states,  each  of  them 
eloquently  concerned  to  exalt  its  legendary  worthies, 
whose  names,  if  not  invented  by  local  pride,  came  down 
from  a  distant  age  when  the  gods  were  understood  to 
move  freely  upon  earth.  The  bards  who  sang  before 
and  after  Homer  had  to  earn  praise  or  pudding  by 
extolling  the  ancestors  of  their  hearers — Homer  himself 
had  several  legendary  birthplaces,  but  not  so  many  as 
Zeus.  The  Catalogue  of  the  ships  in  the  Iliad  appears 
to  have  been  inserted  that  no  Greek  state  should  be  left 
out  of  that  roll  of  ancient  glory.  Much  later,  Pindar's 
odes  were  addressed  to  victors  in  the  athletic  games  of 
his  day  ;  and  he  takes  every  chance  of  bringing  in 
allusions  to  such  legendary  fame  as  might  tickle  the  ears 
of  his  numerous  patrons.  Not  that  the  lauding  bard 
need  have  been  mercenary:  admiration  is  the  natural 
attitude  of  dithyrambic  chroniclers,  as  in  the  case  of  one 
whom  in  our  own  time  we  have  seen  working  himself 
up  to  extol  dubious  heroes  from  Dr.  Francia  to  Frederick 
the  Great.  But  many  a  true  worthy  must  have  gone 
down  into  endless  night,  for  lack  of  a  sacred  trump  to 
sound  his  exploits. 

"  For  not  to  have  been  dipt  in  Lethe  Laice, 
Could  save  the  son  of  Thetis  from  to  die; 
But  that  blind  Bard  did  him  immortal  make 
With  verses  dipped  in  dew  of  Castalie." 

Nor  had  the  bards  to  please  only  limited  audiences. 
Contests  in  music  and  song  made  part  of  the  meetings 
for  athletic  prowess.     The  influence  of  the  arts  in  ancient 


6o  INTRODUCTION 

Greece,  reflected  in  the  fame  of  Apollo,  went  to  refine 
and  to  illustrate  its  early  legends.  They  were  no  bar- 
barians among  whom  so  many  stories  show  poetry  in 
high  honour.  The  names  of  Sappho  and  Anacreon  are 
remembered  better  than  their  works.  When  Alexander 
destroyed  Thebes,  he  bid  spare  the  house  reputed  as 
Pindar's.  It  is  told  that  the  Spartans  being  directed  by 
an  oracle  to  seek  a  leader  in  war  from  their  rival  Athens, 
the  Athenians  sent  them  the  lame  schoolmaster  Tyrtaeus, 
as  least  likely  to  be  of  use  to  an  enemy;  but  they  had 
reckoned  without  his  gift  of  impassioned  song,  that  so 
inspired  the  Lacedaemonian  soldiers  as  to  lead  them  on 
to  victory  singing  the  chants  of  which  some  fragments 
have  come  down  to  us  under  his  name.  Terpander  cf 
Lesbos  is  famed  as  the  inventor  of  the  seven-stringed 
lyre,  in  its  simpler  form  ascribed  to  the  precocious  infant 
Hermes.  A  more  mythical  minstrel  appears  Arion,  said 
to  have  earned  a  fortune  at  musical  meetings  in  Sicily. 

Whatever  poetical  gains  may  have  been,  we  owe  a 
debt  of  gratitude  to  the  "rhapsodists'V  actors  in  mono- 
logue, indeed,  rather  than  poets,  through  whose  chanting 
or  recitation  were  handed  down  to  us  the  strains  attri- 
buted to  Homer,  which  seem  to  have  been  finally  stereo- 
typed in  the  form  given  them  by  ceremonial  delivery  at 
the  Panathenaic  gatherings,  whether  or  no  they  were 
edited  under  the  direction  of  Pisistratus.  We  have 
specimens,  or  at  least  the  titles  of  other  epics,  some- 
times ascribed  to  Homer,  that  were  authority  for  some 
traditional  characters  and  incidents  of  legend.  And  as 
there  were  heroes  before  Agamemnon,  so  after  Homer 
there  were  esteemed  poets,   such  as  Archilochus,  Stesi- 

*  In  the  literal  meaning  of  rhapiodhty  "stitcher  together",  seema  to  be  a  hint  of 
argument  for  controverters  of  "  Lewis  Carroll's "  opinion,  that  the  works  known  a« 
Homer's,  if  not  written  by  him,  were  by  "  another  man  of  the  same  name  ". 


DEMIGODS  AND   HEROES  6i 

chorus,  and  Simonides,  whose  works,  though  lost  to  us, 
unless  in  fragments  or  allusions,  no  doubt  went  to  colour 
the  old  stories,  not  to  speak  of  extant  but  neglected 
poems  like  the  Argonautica  of  Apollonius,  an  epic  that 
should  be  better  known  as  model  for  VirgiFs  Mneid» 

It  will  not  be  amiss  to  say  a  word  about  those 
primarily  athletic  contests  that  did  so  much  to  foster  a 
national  life  and  common  religion  among  the  jarring 
cities  of  the  Greek  world,  the  competitors  coming  not 
only  from  Greece  but  from  its  colonies  in  Asia  and  Sicily. 
The  four  great  meetings  of  the  Greek  world  were  : — 

The  Olympic  Games^  held  on  the  templed  plain  of 
Olympia,  near  Pisa  in  Elis,  where  the  Alpheus  flows  to 
the  western  coast  of  the  Peloponnesus.  These  seem  the 
oldest  of  all,  traced  back  to  the  eighth  century  B.C.,  but 
their  origin  is  lost  in  immemorial  antiquity ;  one  fond 
tradition  made  them  founded  by  Zeus  in  honour  of  his 
prevailing  over  Cronos.  Other  Panhellenic  meetings 
apparently  date  from  the  sixth  century. 

The  Pythian  Games  at  Delphi,  its  old  name  Pytho, 
were  given  out  as  founded  by  Apollo.  Like  the  Olympic 
Games,  they  took  place  every  four  years,  whereas  the 
next  mentioned  were  at  intervals  of  two  years. 

The  Isthmian  Games ^  held  on  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth 
in  honour  of  Poseidon. 

The  Nemean  Games,  in  Argolis,  taken  to  be  founded 
or  revived  by  Hercules  after  his  killing  of  the  Nemean 
lion. 

There  were  also  the  Panathenaic  Games,  peculiar  to 
Attica  and  her  dependencies,  and  doubtless  many  other 
local  celebrations  which  did  not  succeed  in  establishing 
themselves  as  national  and  historical  landmarks. 

Among  these  the  famous  Olympic  Games  were  the 
most  important  as  a  festival  at  once  social,  political,  and 


62  INTRODUCTION 

religious,  held  at  intervals  of  four  years,  which  period, 
styled  an  Olympiad^  was  used  in  dating  events,  like  the 
five-year  Lustrum  of  the  Romans,  the  successive  Olympiads 
running  from  776  b.c,  when  the  games  first  appear  as 
fully  organized.  We  know  how,  in  the  eflFort  to  make 
a  "  living  Greece  "  once  more  of  the  modern  kingdom, 
they  came  to  be  revived  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  having  died  out  in  the  fourth  century  of  our  era. 

**  You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet — 
Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone?" 

The  ancient  ceremonies  lasted  for  a  month,  beginning 
with  the  first  full  moon  of  the  summer  solstice.  Both 
place  and  period  were  held  as  sacred,  no  armed  force 
being  suffered  to  approach.  This  national  truce,  indeed, 
might  be  disturbed  by  an  old  quarrel  between  Pisa  and 
Ells  for  the  presidency  of  the  meeting,  which  once,  in 
364  B.C.,  came  to  be  broken  up  by  a  collision  of  impla- 
cable feuds,  turning  the  games  into  a  battle. 

In  the  athletic  contests  which  filled  the  first  half  of 
the  month,  all  freeborn  Hellenes  might  compete ;  but 
they  were  not  open  to  barbarians,  a  word  Implying  all 
people  who  did  not  speak  Greek.  "  Pot-hunting "  and 
"  gate-money "  did  not  corrupt  the  sport  of  early  days, 
though  something  like  "  professionalism  "  seems  to  have 
been  developed.  The  prize  was  a  simple  crown  of  wild 
olive ;  but  the  winner  deemed  himself  rich  In  the  general 
applause  and  In  that  of  his  fellow  citizens,  who  hailed  his 
victory  as  a  special  triumph  for  his  native  state,  where 
henceforth  he  lived  in  honour  and  privilege  ;  and  more 
substantial  rewards  were  not  always  wanting,  while  his 
fame  might  be  embalmed  In  a  statue.  The  first  and 
chief  contest  would  be  the  foot  race,  followed  by  wrest- 
ling, boxing,  hurling  the  spear  and  the  discus,  horse  races, 


DEMIGODS  AND   HEROES  63 

chariot  races,  and  other  exercises,  altered  or  modified  at 
different  times.  There  were  competitions  for  boys  only, 
and  at  one  time  a  race  for  girls  ;  but  as  a  rule  women 
were  held  aloof  from  the  lists.  The  pancration  made  a 
medley  of  boxing  and  wrestling,  and  the  pentathlon^  a 
succession  of  five  separate  contests,  victory  in  either  of 
which  came  to  be  the  ardent  ambition  of  athletes.  Nor 
was  personal  prowess  the  only  title  to  fame.  Rich  men, 
and  magnates  of  outlying  colonies,  trained  horses  for 
races,  where  their  success  gave  the  owner  such  pride  as 
comes  from  possession  of  a  Derby  winner.  But  the 
excitement  of  our  Epsom  or  Newmarket  faintly  reflects 
the  eagerness  with  which  the  Greek  world  fixed  its  eyes 
on  the  contests  of  Olympia. 

The  second  half  of  the  month  was  taken  up  with  pro- 
cessions, sacrifices,  and  such  religious  ceremonies,  ending 
with  a  banquet  to  the  successful  competitors.  During 
the  festival  it  was  customary  for  authors  to  read  their 
compositions  as  at  a  Welsh  Eisteddfod-^  and  the  History 
of  Herodotus  is  doubtfully  said  to  have  been  published 
in  this  manner.  The  huge  concourse  attracted  on  such 
an  occasion  lent  itself,  likewise,  to  commercial  dealings, 
which  gave  it  the  character  of  an  inter-state  fair.  Works 
of  art,  also,  were  exhibited  at  what  made  the  Greek  form 
of  an  Exhibition,  while  such  sanctuaries  as  Olympia  and 
Delphi  became  permanent  museums  of  national  art  and 
history. 

The  whole  scene  was  thickly  set  with  temples  and 
statues,  in  part  votive  offerings,  but  often  furnished  by 
fines  for  bribery  or  foul  play,  which  seem  not  to  have 
been  unknown.  Besides  metal,  wood,  clay,  and  stone, 
ivory  was  used  in  combinations,  like  the  famous  chrys- 
elephantine (gold  and  ivory)  statue  of  Zeus  by  Phidias. 
Pausanias,  who  plays  Baedeker  for  us  among  the  memorials 


64  INTRODUCTION 

as  they  stood  at  his  day,  mentions  one  athlete,  Thea- 
genes,  as  having  won  1400  crowns  at  the  various  games 
of  his  time.  He  began  his  career  as  a  schoolboy  by  taking 
down  a  brazen  statue  in  the  marketplace  and  carrying  it 
home  on  his  back;  but  when  he  came  to  have  a  statue  of 
his  own  after  death,  an  enemy  was  less  lucky  in  dealing 
with  it,  who  used  to  vent  his  spite  by  scourging  the 
brazen  image  every  night  till  it  fell  over  and  crushed 
him.  Milo  of  Croton  is  the  competitor  whose  name 
has  come  down  to  us  most  renownedly,  for  his  feats 
of  strength  and  for  his  miserable  end :  trying  to  hold 
open  a  split  trunk,  he  got  his  hands  wedged  into  it,  and 
was  held  a  helpless  prey  for  wolves.  Sometimes  a  town 
appears  hard  up  for  a  hero,  as  that  one  whose  boxing 
champion,  having  killed  his  adversary  at  the  Games,  was 
sentenced  to  lose  the  prize,  then  went  so  far  out  of  his 
mind  for  grief,  that  after  returning  home  he  performed 
Samson's  exploit  with  the  pillars  of  a  school  and  pulled 
down  the  roof  upon  threescore  children.  The  indignant 
people  pelted  him  with  stones  to  take  refuge  in  the 
temple  of  Athene,  where  he  hid  himself  in  a  chest  that 
when  broken  open  was  found  empty ;  and  an  oracle  bid 
his  fellow  citizens  honour  him  as  no  mere  mortal.  Even 
in  such  sports,  we  see  how  hero-myths  might  take  shape; 
then  where  minstrels  and  priests  met,  as  well  as  athletes 
and  lovers  of  horse-flesh,  the  occasion  naturally  made  an 
exchange  for  legends  jumbled  together  from  the  supersti- 
tious imagination  of  different  districts. 

These  intercommunications  go  to  explain  the  form 
in  which  many  myths  have  come  down  to  us,  their  out- 
lines blurred,  their  colours  run  together,  and  sometimes 
changing  like  a  chameleon  with  the  ground  on  which 
they  are  set.  The  confusion  would  be  increased  by 
migrating  tribes  bringing  their  legendary  heroes  to  new 


DEMIGODS   AND   HEROES  65 

seats.  There  seems  to  have  been  a  movement  both  of 
amalgamation  and  differentiation  of  traditions.  Local 
heroes  got  to  be  identified  with  more  widely  famed  ones, 
whose  exploits  in  turn  might  be  adopted  to  swell  the 
renown  of  some  minor  champion,  while  new  sprouts  of 
glory  could  find  credit  by  being  grafted  on  to  a  time- 
honoured  heroic  stock. 

The  characters  and  deeds  of  the  heroes  had,  of  course, 
to  fit  local  pride  and  jealousy,  as  when  Minos,  who  in 
general  mythology  presents  the  type  of  a  just  judge, 
figures  in  the  story  of  Theseus  as  a  cruel  tyrant  wreaking 
his  spite  against  Athens.  "  Thus  it  seems  ill  to  earn  the 
hate  of  a  city  great  in  eloquence  and  poetry",  remarks 
Plutarch,  whose  life  of  Theseus  is  strikingly  critical  in 
tone.  The  recent  discoveries  in  Crete,  showing  this 
island  to  have  been  a  seat  of  maritime  enterprise  before 
the  rise  of  the  Greek  states  on  the  mainland,  pave  the 
way  to  some  historic  basis  for  Athens  having  been  in 
such  a  tributary  position  towards  the  powerful  Minos 
dynasty,  as  might  well  leave  a  grudge  against  their  name. 
The  vengeance  of  Minos,  by  the  way,  is  attributed  to 
the  fact  of  his  son  Androgeos  having  been  murdered 
by  resentful  competitors  whom  he  had  beaten  at  the 
Athenian  games. 

The  Muses  are  not  to  be  trusted  as  historians.  If 
heroes  were  promoted  to  godship,  phantoms  might  take 
vague  heroic  form,  like  that  of  Pelops,  legendary  lord  of 
the  Peloponnesus,  who  appears  in  fable  as  boiled  by  his 
father  Tantalus  to  make  a  sacrilegious  meal  for  the  gods, 
and  again  as  winning  an  Olympic  race  by  bribing  his 
opponent's  charioteer  to  run  foul.  For  further  instance 
of  how  we  must  pick  and  choose  among  variant  legends, 
four  different  impieties  are  alleged  as  cause  of  the  punish- 
ment to  which  Tantalus  was  so  famously  doomed.     Nor 

CO  288)  4a 


66  INTRODUCTION 

can  we  be  sure  that  we  have  all  the  versions  once  current. 
Some  tales  are  known  to  us  only  by  casual  allusions  in 
the  poets ;  and  some  are  best  known  as  freely  handled 
for  the  Athenian  stage.  Here  and  there  we  may  surmise 
the  moralizing  or  refining  touch  of  an  author.  The 
brutal  Polyphemus  of  the  Odyssey  must  have  grown 
softer  of  heart  when  he  combed  and  shaved  himself  for 
love  of  the  fair  Galatea,  though  indeed  his  savage  nature 
came  out  in  the  revenge  he  took  on  his  favoured  rival, 
Acis,  as  the  happy  pair  sat  listening  to  the  love-lorn 
Cyclops'  song.  The  painful  stories  of  Niobe's  children, 
and  of  Philomela,  might  both  seem  blended  less  shock- 
ingly in  that  of  Aedon,  the  jealous  sister,  who  would 
have  slain  Niobe's  first-born,  but  by  mistake  killed  her 
own  son  Itylus,  a  tragedy  she  laments  for  ever  in  the 
plaintive  notes  of  the  nightingale ;  and  this  tale  also 
takes  more  than  one  form.  Sometimes  a  patch  can  be 
detected  as  let  in  to  an  old  story,  the  fable  of  "The 
Choice  of  Hercules  "  for  example,  ascribed  to  a  sophist 
of  the  fifth  century  b.c,  and  evidently  out  of  keeping 
with  the  sanguinary  tissue  of  the  original  legend. 

The  figure  most  like  a  national  hero  is  that  of  Her- 
cules, who  varyingly  appears  as  born  at  Tiryns  and  at 
Thebes,  but  never  settled  down  at  any  city  that  could 
take  the  full  credit  of  his  exploits,  his  wanderings  carrying 
him  far  and  wide,  beyond  the  bounds  of  Greece.  Outside 
of  it  was  he  honoured,  as  in  his  great  temple  at  Tyre ; 
but  indeed  Herodotus  notes  two  separate  incarnations 
of  this  great  name.  His  descendants  the  Heraclidae  are 
made  to  conquer  the  Peloponnesus,  dividing  its  king- 
doms between  them — probably  a  mythical  view  of  the 
Dorian  invasion — and  the  list  of  that  progeny,  as  enumer- 
ated by  Apollodorus,  is  so  long  that  it  could  have  sup- 
plied heroic  worthies  enough  to  serve  all  the  Greek  states. 


DEMIGODS  AND   HEROES  67 

Many  an  ancient  bard  may  have  done  violence  to  his 
conscience  by  ennobling  liberal  patrons  with  the  blood 
of  such  an  illustrious  ancestor ;  and  Hercules  strangling 
the  snakes  in  his  cradle  came  to  be  a  favourite  device 
on  the  coins  of  Greek  cities  and  colonies.  The  story 
of  Perseus,  still  more  that  of  Theseus,  look  like  local 
variants  of  the  long  list  of  prodigious  exploits  that  from 
many  quarters  came  to  be  tacked  on  to  a  more  widely 
famous  name. 

Thus  we  may  have  similar  exploits  recorded  of 
different  personages,  and  varying,  often  contradictory 
versions  of  what  seems  the  same  tale.  That,  of  course, 
is  no  new  thing  in  mythology.  The  classical  writers  who 
had  to  handle  this  medley  of  tradition,  were  more  or 
less  free  to  "  edit "  it  according  to  their  own  tastes  and 
prejudices.  Wild  work  was  made  of  chronology  by  the 
need  of  bringing  such  and  such  a  hero  to  some  place  at 
a  certain  time,  and  of  putting  certain  heroes  together  on 
the  same  scene.  Tiresias,  the  blind  seer,  for  instance, 
figures  like  a  Methusaleh  in  many  generations.  The 
charms  of  Ninon  de  L'Enclos  did  not  hold  out  so  long 
as  Helen's,  who  for  a  century  or  so,  if  all  poets  are  to  be 
trusted,  might  by  generations  be  prayed  "make  me  im- 
mortal with  a  kiss  ! "  Hercules  appears  a  contemporary 
of  many  heroes,  some  of  whom  must  have  been  too  old 
or  too  young  to  be  very  serviceable  among  the  Argonaut 
crew  that  had  him  for  a  shipmate.  The  enterprise  of  the 
Argo^  by  the  way,  suggests  how  some  early  commercial 
voyage  to  the  inhospitable  Euxine  may  have  made  a  core 
for  such  a  snowball  tale  of  marvel  and  adventure,  as  the 
siege  of  Troy  very  probably  was  a  real  prelude  to  the 
later  struggles  between  Greece  and  Asia.  Several  cities, 
indeed,  are  now  seen  to  have  stood  successively  on 
the  site  of  Troy,  always  likely  to  be  a  scene  of  collision 


68  INTRODUCTION 

between  eastward  adventurers  and  the  holders  of  a 
stronghold  commanding  the  entrance  to  the  Hellespont. 

Homer  stands  above  other  bards  in  appealing  to  a 
national  patriotism,  though  there  may  be  some  trace  of 
particularismus  in  his  opposition  of  the  northern  Achilles  to 
the  Peloponnesian  lord  of  Argos.  Not  less  remarkable 
is  the  Iliad's  advance  from  the  barbarism  of  less  refined 
legends.  Poisoned  arrows  have  gone  out  of  common 
use,  while  there  are  hints  of  these  in  the  Odyssey  and  in 
the  cureless  shafts  bequeathed  by  Hercules  to  Philoctetes ; 
warriors  exchange  courtesies  as  well  as  insults  when  about 
to  engage ;  woman  is  no  mere  thrall ;  and  human  sacri- 
fice occurs  only  in  the  exceptional  case  of  the  funeral  of 
PatrocluSj  whose  death  indeed  rouses  Achilles  for  once 
to  insult  the  body  of  a  gallant  foe,  yet  he  repents  before 
the  grief  of  a  suppliant  father. 

So  much  being  hinted  as  to  the  Protean  nature  of  the 
materials  here  to  be  handled,  in  the  following  stories  the 
critical  attitude  must  be  laid  aside.  We  have  to  take 
these  legends  as  we  find  them.  The  writer's  task  is  to 
reproduce  the  chief  features  of  this  mythology,  treated  on 
a  given  scale,  usually  after  the  best-known  version,  yet 
sometimes  with  an  eye  to  the  taste  of  readers  who  will 
not  so  readily  stomach  the  grossness  that  did  not  offend 
ancient  hearers.  In  a  certain  amount  of  selection  or 
suppression,  one  is  justified  by  classic  example ;  but,  as 
far  as  may  be,  the  attempt  is  to  present  the  Greek  mind 
as  shown  in  its  famous  fables,  and  to  make  familiar  the 
names  and  characters  so  often  cited  in  poetry,  oratory, 
and  history. 


PHAETHON 

A  proud  youth  was  Phaethon  when  his  mother  Cly- 
mene  let  him  know  how  for  father  he  had  no  mortal  man, 
none  less  than  the  god  Phoebus-Apollo  that  daily  drove 
across  our  world  in  the  Sun's  dazzling  chariot.  But  the 
lad's  companions  mocked  him  when  he  boasted  such 
high  birth ;  then,  at  his  mother's  bidding,  he  sought 
out  that  heavenly  sire  to  demand  a  boon  through  which 
all  should  know  him  as  of  divine  race. 

Before  dawn  he  came  to  the  golden  palace  of  Phoebus, 
where  the  purple-mantled  god  sat  on  his  ivory  throne, 
amid  a  rainbow  sheen  of  jewels.  Round  him  stood  his 
ministers  and  henchmen,  the  Hours,  the  Days,  the 
Months,  and  noblest  of  all,  the  Seasons  :  Spring  wreathed 
with  fresh  blossoms,  naked  Summer  clothed  in  leaves 
and  crowned  with  ears  of  corn.  Autumn  stained  by  the 
clusters  of  fruit  he  held  in  his  sunburnt  arms,  and  shiver- 
ing Winter  with  snow-white  locks.  Phaethon's  eyes  were 
dazzled  before  such  magnificence,  so  that  he  durst  not 
approach  the  throne  till  his  all-seeing  father  called  him  by 
name. 

"  Welcome,  my  son,  to  the  halls  of  heaven ! "  quoth 
Phoebus,  laying  aside  the  crown  of  sunrays  on  which 
mortal  sight  could  not  bear  to  gaze.  "  But  say,  what 
brings  thee  from  earth?" 

Thus  encouraged,  the  beardless  boy  drew  near  to 
falter  out  his  request,  and  soon  waxed  bolder  in  the  god's 
smiling  face.     He  made  his  complaint  that  men  would 


70  PHAETHON 

not  believe  him  Apollo's  son,  unless  his  father  gave  him 
a  pledge  of  his  birth  that  might  be  seen  by  the  whole 
world. 

"  Before  the  whole  world,"  cried  the  god,  "  will  I 
own  thee  for  my  son.  Well  hast  thou  done  to  seek  a 
proof  of  favour,  which  thy  father  grants  unheard ;  so  I 
swear  by  the  Styx,  that  oath  that  binds  even  the  gods. 
Ask,  then,  and  have  1 " 

"  Father,"  exclaimed  Phaethon  eagerly,  "grant  me  my 
dearest  wish,  for  one  day  to  be  trusted  to  drive  the 
chariot  of  the  Sun!" 

A  shade  fell  on  the  radiant  face  of  Phoebus,  and  once 
and  again  he  shook  his  glowing  head  before  he  answered. 

"  Rash  boy,  that  knows  not  what  he  would  dare ! 
That  charge  is  too  great  for  heedless  youth,  nay,  for  any 
mortal,  since  not  even  to  the  gods  may  it  be  safely  com- 
mitted. Jupiter  himself  takes  not  in  hand  the  reins  of 
the  Sun's  coursers.  Among  all  the  sons  of  Olympus,  I 
alone  can  stand  firm  in  the  burning  car  and  rule  aright 
its  fiery  steeds  on  their  steep  and  toilsome  path.  Re- 
nounce, I  beseech  thee,  such  a  perilous  boon.  Ask 
anything  else  in  heaven  or  earth,  and  again  I  swear  by 
Styx  it  is  thine." 

But  the  froward  youth,  with  pouts  and  entreaties, 
held  fast  to  his  audacious  wish,  and  would  not  let  himself 
be  moved  by  fatherly  counsels.  So  at  last,  the  lord  of 
the  Sun,  bound  by  his  oath,  was  fain  to  consent,  though 
sorely  fearing  what  would  come  of  trusting  such  steeds 
to  so  weak  a  hand. 

It  was  time  to  be  off  on  that  daily  journey,  for  already 
Aurora  began  to  draw  back  the  rosy  curtains  of  the  East, 
as  Phoebus  led  his  son  to  Vulcan's  masterpiece,  the  golden 
chariot  studded  with  sparkling  gems,  all  so  rich  and 
beautiful  that  Phaethon's  head  was  turned  by  his  good 


PHAETHON  71 

fortune  to  be  its  master  for  one  day.  The  vanishing 
of  the  stars  and  the  fading  of  the  moon's  horns  were 
signal  to  lead  out  the  four  coursers  of  the  Sun,  pawing 
and  neighing  to  show  how,  full  fed  with  ambrosia,  and 
refreshed  by  the  night's  rest,  they  came  eager  for  their 
accustomed  task.  While  the  swift-fingered  Hours  fitted 
on  their  clanking  bits,  and  harnessed  them  to  the  chariot- 
pole,  fond  Phoebus  anointed  the  youth  with  a  sacred 
balm  that  would  enable  him  better  to  bear  the  heat 
of  his  glowing  course.  Meanwhile  the  god  plied  him 
with  warnings,  to  which  his  impatient  son  hardly  gave 
ear. 

"  Keep  heedfully  the  straight  path  marked  by  fear- 
some signs  of  beasts.  Beware  in  going  by  the  horns  of 
the  Bull  and  the  mouth  of  the  roaring  Lion,  and  the  far- 
stretched  claws  of  the  Scorpion  or  the  Crab.  Shun  the 
South  Pole  and  the  North  Pole ;  hold  the  upper  arch 
of  the  sky  from  east  to  west ;  safest  ever  is  the  middle 
way.  Sink  not  too  far  down,  lest  the  earth  catch  fire ; 
rise  not  too  high  to  scorch  the  face  of  heaven.  Spare 
the  goad,  and  draw  tight  the  reins,  for  my  horses  fly  of 
themselves,  and  all  the  labour  is  to  hold  them  in.  Now 
mount  the  car — or  no,  dear  son,  bethink  thee  in  time ! 
It  is  not  honour  thou  shalt  win,  but  punishment  and 
destruction.  Leave  the  chariot  to  me,  and  be  content 
to  watch  its  course  like  thy  fellow  men ! " 

But  already  the  presumptuous  stripling  had  sprung 
up  to  grasp  the  reins ;  and  when  Thetis  drew  the  bar 
of  heaven,  he  let  the  chafing  horses  bound  forth,  throw- 
ing back  a  hasty  word  of  thanks  and  farewell  to  his 
anxious  father. 

Boldly  Phaethon  urged  that  mettlesome  team  through 
the  morning  mists,  with  the  east  wind  following  to 
sweep  him  on  his  proud  career.      But  soon  the  swift- 


72  PHAETHON 

ness  took  away  his  breath,  while  under  his  light  weight 
the  car  shook  and  swayed  like  a  keel  without  ballast, 
till  his  head  began  to  turn.  And  too  soon  the  fiery 
coursers  felt  how  their  reins  were  in  an  unpractised 
hand.  Rearing  and  starting  aside,  they  left  their  wonted 
way;  then  all  the  earth  was  amazed  to  see  the  glorious 
chariot  of  the  Sun  speeding  crookedly  overhead  as  a 
flash  of  lightning. 

Before  he  had  gone  far,  the  rash  charioteer  sorely 
repented  his  ambition,  and  would  have  asked  no  greater 
boon  than  to  be  saved  from  that  perilous  honour. 
Too  late  he  saw  how  wisely  his  father  had  warned  him. 
His  head  whirled,  his  face  grew  white,  and  his  knees 
shook  as  he  looked  to  earth  and  sea  spread  out 
beneath,  and  to  the  boundless  sky  above.  In  vain  he 
tugged  at  the  tangled  bridles ;  in  vain  he  cried  to 
the  horses  which  he  could  not  call  by  name.  Heated 
by  the  wild  course,  they  no  longer  minded  his  un- 
masterful  hand,  but  took  their  own  way  through  the 
air,  prancing  hither  and  thither  at  will.  Now  they 
soared  up  towards  the  sky,  so  that  the  clouds  began 
to  smoke,  and  the  Moon  looked  out  with  dismay  to 
see  her  brother's  car  so  strangely  guided.  Then  turning 
downwards,  as  if  to  cool  themselves  in  the  ocean,  they 
passed  close  over  a  high  mountain,  that  in  a  moment 
burst  into  flames. 

Thus  fearsome  disaster  fell  upon  the  earth.  The 
Sun,  instead  of  holding  his  stately  beneficent  course 
across  the  sky,  seemed  to  rush  down  in  wrath  like  a 
meteor,  blasting  the  fair  face  of  nature  and  the  works 
of  man.  The  grass  withered;  the  crops  were  scorched 
away ;  the  woods  went  up  in  fire  and  smoke ;  then 
beneath  them  the  bare  earth  cracked  and  crumbled, 
and  the  blackened  rocks  burst  asunder  under  the  heat. 


PHAETHON  73 

The  rivers  dried  up  or  fled  back  to  their  hidden  foun- 
tains ;  the  lakes  began  to  boil ;  the  very  sea  sank  in 
its  bed,  and  the  fishes  lay  gasping  on  the  shore,  unless 
they  could  gain  the  depths  whence  Poseidon  thrice 
raised  his  head  and  thrice  plunged  back  into  his 
shrinking  waves,  unable  to  bear  the  deadly  glow. 
Scythia  was  not  shielded  by  its  frosts,  nor  Caucasus 
by  its  snows,  licked  up  beneath  the  passage  of  that 
scorching  whirlwind.  Mighty  Atlas,  they  say,  had  all 
but  let  the  red-hot  world  fall  from  his  writhing 
shoulders.  On  that  day  the  negroes  were  burned 
black,  and,  ever  since,  one  stretch  of  our  earth  has  lain 
a  sandy  desert,  where  neither  man  nor  beast  can  thrive. 
But  all  over  the  habitable  world  the  Sun's  charioteer 
spread  woe  and  ruin,  as  its  cities  were  consumed  one 
by  one,  and  the  people  in  their  torment  swarmed  here 
and  there,  like  ants,  among  the  ashes  of  their  homes. 
Never  had  such  a  calamity  fallen  on  man  since  Zeus 
and  Poseidon  drowned  his  impiety  under  the  flood  in 
which  only  Deucalion  and  Pyrrha  found  dry  land! 

By  now  the  wretched  Phaethon  had  given  up  hope 
to  check  or  guide  his  baleful  course.  Blinded  by 
terror  and  by  the  glare  spreading  beneath  him  where- 
ever  he  sped,  seared  by  the  heat  till  he  could  not 
stand  on  the  glowing  car,  he  threw  down  the  useless 
reins,  to  fall  on  his  knees  with  a  pitiful  prayer  for  his 
father's  help.  But  his  prayer  was  lost  in  the  cry  that 
went  up  from  the  whole  earth,  calling  upon  the  lord 
of  heaven  to  save  mankind  from  destruction. 

Not  unheard  rose  that  cry.  All-powerful  Zeus  was 
sleeping  away  the  noonday  hour ;  but  quickly  he  awoke 
and  raised  his  head  and  saw  what  had  befallen.  Snatch- 
ing a  thunderbolt  that  lay  ready  to  his  hand,  he  hurled 
it  through  the  smoky  air,  and  struck  senseless  Phaethon 


74  PHAETHON 

from  this  chariot  he  could  not  control.  Down  the 
youth  dashed  with  blazing  locks,  swift  as  a  falling  star, 
to  be  quenched  like  a  firebrand  in  the  river  Eridanus. 
Then  the  horses  of  the  Sun  shook  off  their  yokes, 
breaking  loose  to  seek  their  stalls  in  the  sky;  and  for 
once  at  noon  night  fell  upon  the  earth,  lit  only  by  the 
flickering  fires  kindled  through  Phaethon's  folly. 

So,  on  that  woeful  day,  ended  the  vainglorious  son 
born  to  Phoebus  -  Apollo,  who  was  fain  to  hide  his 
countenance  for  shame  of  his  fatherly  fondness.  But 
some  there  were  who  mourned  the  rash  youth's  end. 
When  the  nymphs  of  the  Eridanus  had  buried  him 
on  its  banks,  his  mother,  frantic  with  grief,  came 
thither  to  pour  out  her  heart's  blood  in  sorrow.  His 
three  sisters,  too,  wept  so  bitterly,  that  the  pitying  gods 
changed  them  into  poplar  trees  dropping  tears  of 
amber  upon  the  water.  And  his  friend  Cygnus  dived 
so  often  into  the  river  to  gather  up  Phaethon's  charred 
members,  that  when  he  pined  away  for  grief,  it  was 
granted  him  still  to  haunt  the  stream  in  the  shape  of 
a  swan. 


PERSEUS 

I.  The  Gorgon 

Acrlsius,  king  of  Argos,  was  sore  troubled  through 
an  oracle  declaring  that  by  the  hand  of  a  grandson 
he  should  die;  then,  having  but  one  child,  his  fair 
daughter  Danag,  he  thought  to  cheat  that  doom  by- 
keeping  her  unwedded.  To  make  sure,  he  shut  her 
up  in  close  prison,  a  cave  underground,  or,  as  some 
say,  a  brazen  tower,  never  to  see  the  face  of  man 
while  she  lived.  But  the  gods  can  make  their  way 
even  where  the  light  of  day  is  shut  out.  Danag  was 
visited  by  Zeus  in  the  form  of  a  shower  of  gold,  and 
here  she  bore  a  son,  who  was  to  be  the  famous  hero 
Perseus. 

When  the  infant's  crying  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
king,  and  he  learned  how  a  grandson  had  been  born 
to  him  for  all  his  watchfulness,  his  cowardly  soul  was 
filled  with  dismay.  Not  daring  to  have  the  boy's 
blood  on  his  hands,  nor  yet  to  let  him  live,  he  had 
mother  and  child  put  together  in  a  chest  and  sent 
drifting  out  to  drown  or  starve  upon  the  stormy  sea. 
But  Zeus  watched  over  them ;  and  at  his  bidding 
Poseidon  stilled  the  winds  and  waves  that  gently  bore 
their  frail  ark  eastward,  till  it  came  washed  ashore  on 
the  island  of  Seriphos  in  the  -^gean  archipelago. 

Here  Danae  and  her  babe  were  found  by  a  fisher- 
man   named    Dictys,    who    treated    them    kindly,   and 


76  PERSEUS 

took  them  to  his  house  to  bring  up  Perseus  as  his 
own  child.  And  so  well  throve  this  young  stranger 
that  the  men  of  Seriphos  could  guess  him  to  be  of 
royal  birth,  nay,  son  of  a  god.  In  sports  and  combats 
he  soon  vanquished  all  his  playfellows,  and  grew  up 
to  full  strength  and  stature,  his  mind  set  on  brave 
deeds  by  which  he  might  prove  himself  a  hero  among 
men.  In  dreams  he  was  inspired  by  Athene,  who 
strung  his  heart  to  choose  the  deadliest  perils  in  the 
flower  of  youth,  rather  than  inglorious  ease  and  safety. 

Soon  he  was  to  have  his  desire.  His  foster-father 
Dictys  had  a  brother,  Polydectes,  the  chief  of  the 
island,  but  of  less  noble  nature.  He,  at  first  friendly 
to  the  strangers  cast  on  his  shore,  came  to  love  DanaS, 
and  would  have  forced  her  to  be  his  wife.  But  all 
her  heart  was  given  to  her  son,  and  such  a  wooer 
seemed  unworthy  of  one  who  had  been  loved  by  a 
god.  The  cunning  Polydectes  bethought  him  how 
to  get  rid  of  this  manly  youth  who  stood  as  a  guard 
to  his  mother's  honour.  To  have  Danae  in  his  power 
he  set  Perseus  upon  a  fearful  adventure,  from  which 
the  bravest  man  was  little  like  to  come  back  alive. 

The  task  given  him  was  to  slay  the  monster 
Medusa,  one  of  the  three  Gorgon  sisters,  she  alone 
of  them  mortal,  but  her  very  looks  deadly  to  the  best- 
armed  foe.  For,  to  punish  an  impious  outrage  on 
Athene,  her  hair  had  been  turned  into  vipers  writh- 
ing about  a  face  so  horrible  that  whoever  set  eyes  upon 
it  was  stiffened  to  stone  before  he  could  strike  a  blow. 
Yet  Perseus  did  not  fear  to  face  the  Gorgon,  when 
his  patron  Athene  gave  him  wise  counsels  how  he 
should  accomplish  that  perilous  quest. 

"  Not  without  help  of  the  gods  can  the  bravest 
man  assail  such  a  foe,"  she  bid  him  know,  when  the 


THE   GORGON  77 

bold  youth  would  have  made  light  of  all  he  must 
dare. 

For  now  the  goddess  appeared  to  him  in  radiant 
majesty,  accompanied  by  her  brother  Hermes,  and 
they  lent  him  certain  powerful  talismans  in  proof  of 
their  favour.  Hermes  girded  on  to  him  his  own 
crooked  sword  that  could  cut  through  the  stoutest 
armour,  and  fitted  the  youth's  feet  with  his  winged 
sandals  to  bear  him  swiftly  over  land  and  sea.  More- 
over, from  the  realm  of  Pluto  he  brought  him  a 
wonderful  helmet  that  made  the  wearer  of  it  invisible. 
Athene  gave  him  her  polished  shield,  which  he  must 
use  like  a  mirror  so  as  to  strike  Medusa  without  look- 
ing straight  in  her  horrific  face.  Also  *she  provided 
him  with  a  goatskin  bag  to  hide  the  Gorgon's  head, 
that  even  in  death  would  freeze  the  blood  of  all  who 
beheld  it,  friend  or  foe. 

Thus  equipped,  he  was  bidden  first  to  seek  out,  in 
their  icy  home  of  the  north,  the  frostbound  Graiae, 
half-sisters  of  the  Gorgons,  who  alone  could  tell  him 
the  way  to  the  far-off  isle  where  Medusa  had  her  lair. 
Not  an  hour  did  he  lose  in  setting  forth,  only  begging 
of  Athene  to  watch  over  his  mother  till  he  brought 
back  Medusa's  head.  With  such  heavenly  aid,  he 
could  make  no  doubt  of  victory. 

Springing  into  the  air  from  the  cliffs  of  Seriphos, 
lightly  he  flew  to  the  north,  till  he  came  among  snows 
and  mists  and  mountains  of  ice  where  no  mortal  man 
can  dwell.  There,  on  the  edge  of  the  Hyperborean  sea, 
he  found  the  Grey  Sisters  huddled  up  together,  dim  and 
shapeless  forms,  of  which  his  eyes  could  hardly  tell 
whether  they  were  two  or  three.  Clothed  only  in  their 
long  hair,  white  and  bristling  with  ice,  so  old  were  they 
and  so  doting  that  they  had  but  one  eye  and  one  tooth 


78  PERSEUS 

left  between  them,  which  their  fumbling  hands  passed 
from  each  to  other  with  groans  and  murmurs,  as  in  turn 
they  needed  to  munch  the  snowflakes  or  to  peer  through 
the  blinding  mists.  This  Perseus  knew  from  Athene ; 
and  as  she  had  bidden  him,  he  stole  up  to  the  old  hags, 
invisible  in  his  helm  of  darkness,  then  suddenly  snatched 
away  their  eye,  as  they  wrangled  which  should  have  it 
to  see  whose  steps  came  clanging  on  the  frosty  shore. 

"Tell  me  the  way  to  the  Gorgons,"  demanded  he, 
"or  I  take  your  tooth  also,  and  leave  you  to  starve  in 
this  wilderness." 

A  miserable  outcry  those  Grey  Sisters  made,  when 
they  found  themselves  thus  robbed  by  an  unseen  hand. 
With  threats  and  curses  they  bid  him  give  up  their  eye ; 
but  he  held  it  firm,  till,  since  so  it  must  be,  they  mumbled 
out  directions  by  which  he  might  find  the  Gorgons'  Isle. 
For  thanks  he  gave  them  back  their  eye,  but  they  saw 
him  not,  for  he  was  gone  before  they  could  nod  their 
feeble  heads,  falling  asleep  like  blocks  of  ice. 

Now  he  must  fly  far  to  the  south,  where  the  mists 
and  snows  soon  melted  away,  and  the  earth  lay  green 
with  fields  and  forests,  and  the  blue  sea  shone  and 
sparkled  under  a  glowing  sky.  Hot  and  hotter  grew 
the  air  as  he  flew  over  land  and  sea  towards  the  other 
end  of  the  world,  all  its  rivers  and  mountains  stretching 
out  below  his  feet,  and  at  last  a  great  ocean  upon  which 
no  sail  was  spread.  There,  following  the  course  given 
hira  to  steer  by  the  sun  and  the  stars,  he  spied  out  the 
island  whereon  lived  those  hateful  sisters,  among  lifeless 
images  of  men  and  beasts  whom  their  looks  had  turned 
to  stone. 

Swooping  down  in  the  brightness  of  noonday,  he  saw 
the  three  Gorgons  fast  asleep,  Medusa  in  the  middle. 
But  on  her  he  did  not  dare  to  fix  his  eyes.     As  Athene 


THE   GORGON  79 

had  bidden  him,  he  drew  near  with  his  back  turned, 
holding  her  shield  so  as  to  make  a  mirror  for  that  blood- 
curdling head,  with  its  mane  of  vipers  curling  and  writh- 
ing about  it  even  in  sleep.  Fearfully  beautiful  was 
Medusa^s  face  as  well  as  horrible ;  but  as  she  tossed  to 
and  fro  in  her  dreams,  Perseus  saw  how  her  body  was 
clad  in  loathsome  scales  and  brazen  plumage,  and  how 
her  limbs  ended  in  cruel  claws ;  and  her  mouth  open 
in  a  bitter  smile  showed  fangs  like  a  serpent^s,  bristling 
round  her  forked  tongue. 

He  durst  not  look  longer  for  fear  she  should  open 
her  blood- freezing  eyes.  Marking  in  his  mirror  how 
she  lay,  he  struck  backwards,  and  with  one  sweep  of 
the  crooked  sword  of  Hermes  had  cut  clean  through  her 
neck  so  swiftly  as  to  choke  her  one  shrill  cry.  Then 
with  averted  looks  and  shuddering  hands  he  stowed  away 
the  bleeding  head  in  his  goatskin  bag,  and  rose  into  the 
air  with  a  shout  of  triumph. 

That  cry  awoke  the  two  sister  Gorgons  to  find 
Medusa's  headless  body  lying  between  them,  and  to  hear 
the  exulting  voice  of  the  foe  who  had  done  this  deed. 
Hissing  and  howling,  they  spread  their  wings  like  mon- 
strous birds  of  prey  to  seek  him  out  with  their  iron  talons. 
But  Perseus,  hid  from  them  by  his  helm  of  darkness, 
was  soon  beyond  reach  of  those  revengeful  monsters,  that, 
unlike  their  sister,  could  not  be  slain  by  mortal  hand. 

Fast  and  far  the  hero  flew  with  his  prize,  the  way 
soon  leading  over  a  boundless  desert  on  which  he  could 
see  no  green  thing  nor  any  living  creature.  But  as  the 
Gorgon's  blood  oozed  through  the  goatskin,  gouts  of 
it  dropped  upon  the  thirsty  sand,  and  there  bred  veno- 
mous snakes  and  scorpions,  ever  since  to  plague  that 
barren  soil.  Huge  pillars  of  whirling  sand  rose  up  to 
mark  how  the  raging  Gorgons  chased  him  in  vain ;  for 


8o  .  PERSEUS 

Perseus  soared  above  them  invisible,  nor  set  foot  on 
earth  till  he  came  at  evening  to  the  westernmost  bounds 
of  the  known  world. 

Here  night  and  day  knelt  the  old  giant  Atlas,  hold- 
ing up  by  pillars  the  weight  of  the  sky.  Of  him  Perseus, 
wearied  by  his  long  travel,  begged  leave  to  stay  and  rest 
in  the  famed  garden  of  golden  apples  which  Atlas  kept 
jealously  enclosed  under  guard  of  a  dragon.  But  the 
churlish  giant  bid  him  begone. 

"  I  am  a  son  of  Zeus,  and  I  have  done  a  deed  to  earn 
better  welcome,"  pleaded  Perseus. 

"  A  son  of  Zeus  is  fated  to  rob  my  garden  ! "  growled 
the  giant,  remembering  an  oracle  of  old,  which  was  indeed 
to  be  fulfilled  by  Hercules. 

"  If  so  chary  of  what  is  thine,  take  thou  a  gift  from 
me!"  And  with  this  Perseus  drew  forth  the  Gorgon's 
head  to  hold  it  full  in  the  giant's  face. 

Not  another  word  did  Atlas  speak.  This  hugest  of 
Titans  had  in  an  instant  been  turned  to  a  stony  peak,  his 
tall  head  white  with  snows,  his  beard  stiff  with  ice,  his 
rocky  ribs  bristling  with  forests.  And  so  he  stands  to 
this  day,  a  lifeless  mountain  bearing  up  the  clouds. 

II.  Andromeda 

His  face  set  to  the  east,  Perseus  held  an  airy  way, 
feeling  himself  truly  invincible,  now  that  to  the  god- 
given  talismans  he  had  added  the  spell  of  Medusa's 
head,  which  even  in  death  could  appal  the  strongest  foe. 
When  he  had  passed  over  the  desert,  and  crossed  the 
green  edges  of  the  Nile,  he  came  next  to  the  land  of 
the  Ethiopians,  and  other  strange  peoples ;  and  soon 
the  rising  sun  showed  him  a  marvellous  sight.  Against 
a  black  rock  on  the  seashore  washed  by  every  wave,  the 


ANDROMEDA  8l 

form  of  a  sunburnt  maiden  stood  like  a  statue,  nor 
moved  as  he  swept  down  towards  her,  so  that  but  for 
the  tears  in  her  eyes  and  her  long  locks  stirred  by  the 
wind,  he  might  have  taken  her  for  carved  out  of  stone. 
He  saw  how,  veiled  in  sunlight  and  spray,  she  blushed 
at  his  approach,  faintly  struggling  as  if  she  would  have 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  but  could  not,  for  she 
was  fast  chained  to  the  rock. 

"Fair  maiden,  how  comest  thou  in  such  a  plight?" 
he  cried,  wondering  at  her  beauty,  not  less  than  her  woe. 
"Why  these  chains  for  a  form  more  fitly  arrayed  in 
wedding  garlands  ?  Thy  name  and  race  ?  asks  one  who 
would  fain  set  thee  free  from  such  unworthy  bonds." 

The  maiden  strove  to  speak,  but  once  and  again 
tears  choked  her  voice,  and  shame  tied  her  tongue. 
But,  when  the  hero  put  on  his  helm  of  darkness  and 
thus  became  invisible  to  her  downcast  eyes,  she  at  last 
found  voice  to  answer. 

"  I  am  Andromeda,  only  daughter  of  Cepheus  the 
king ;  and  here  am  I  set  to  suffer  for  words  not  my 
own.  It  was  my  mother  Cassiope  who,  in  her  pride, 
boasted  of  me  as  fairer  than  the  Nereids,  daughters 
of  the  sea.  They,  out  of  spite,  worked  on  Poseidon 
to  send  a  cruel  sea-monster,  ravaging  our  coasts,  and 
scaring  the  people  from  their  homes.  Then  my  father 
sought  the  oracle  of  Ammon  in  the  Libyan  sands,  and 
had  for  answer  that  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  daughter  alone 
could  the  pest  be  stayed.  Long  my  parents  were  loath 
to  devote  me  thus ;  but  the  people  cried  out  so  sorely 
that  they  were  fain  to  obey  the  oracle.  So  here  I  stand 
helpless,  awaiting  the  monster,  that  is  to  devour  me  at 
sunrise,  then  leave  the  land  in  peace.  And  there  he 
comes ! "  she  ended  with  a  shriek,  as  afar  off  rose  a 
shapeless  black  bulk  from  the  sea  depths. 


82  PERSEUS 

"  Not  helpless,  fair  Andromeda  ! "  quoth  Perseus,  and 
with  his  magic  sword  cut  the  chains  that  bound  her  as 
lightly  as  if  they  were  thread.  "  By  heavenly  aid,  I  have 
slain  the  Gorgon,  and  so  will  I  do  to  this  monster,  be  it 
ever  so  fearful." 

Now  the  maiden  stood  still  and  calm,  trusting  that 
here  must  indeed  be  a  son  of  the  gods  sent  to  deliver 
her.  But  her  cry  of  alarm  had  come  echoed  back  from 
the  cliffs,  on  which  stood  the  woeful  parents  with  a  crowd 
of  people,  waiting  to  see  her  cruel  end.  Their  warning 
shouts  told  how  that  the  monster  made  speed  towards 
the  victim,  who  closed  her  eyes  when  she  saw  its  back 
cleaving  the  waves  like  a  swift  galley. 

With  one  word  of  cheer  to  Andromeda,  Perseus  made 
ready  for  the  fight  that  should  deliver  her.  He  laid 
aside  Medusa's  head,  veiling  its  horror  in  seaweeds  that 
afterwards  were  found  changed  into  coral  branches. 
Drawing  his  sword,  he  sprang  lightly  into  the  air,  and 
flew  to  meet  the  monster  as  it  rushed  upon  Andromeda 
with  foaming  jaws  and  grinding  teeth.  But  when  from 
above  the  hero's  shadow  fell  upon  the  sea,  the  creature 
checked  its  course  to  rage  against  this  unlooked  -  for 
enemy.  Down  swooped  Perseus  like  an  eagle,  piercing 
its  scaly  neck  with  his  keen  blade.  The  monster  roared 
and  lashed  and  writhed,  turning  on  its  back  as  it  vainly 
tried  to  get  him  into  its  horrid  jaws,  while  again  and 
again  the  sword  goaded  it  to  fresh  fury  upon  the  waves 
purpled  with  its  blood ;  and  to  those  looking  on  with 
affrighted  eyes  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  sea  were  stirred 
by  a  storm. 

At  last,  when  all  was  still,  the  weeping  parents  ven- 
tured down  from  the  cliff  to  see  what  had  befallen.  They 
found  their  daughter  trembling  but  unharmed,  and  beside 
her  Perseus  stood  wiping  his  sword,  where  out  of  the 


ANDROMEDA  83 

heaving  red  water  stood  up  the  monster's  body,  now 
still  as  a  huge  black  reef. 

"  Dry  your  tears  and  take  back  your  daughter,  loosed 
by  my  sword,"  was  the  greeting  of  Perseus.  "  But  her 
whom  I  have  won  from  death,  I  claim  for  a  kinder 
embrace.  I  am  son  of  Zeus  and  Danae,  one  whom  ye 
might  not  despise  for  her  husband,  even  were  she  free 
to  choose." 

The  grateful  parents  willingly  agreed  to  give  such 
a  champion  not  only  their  daughter,  but  all  the  kingdom 
if  he  desired  it  as  dowry.  With  tears,  now  of  joy,  they 
led  him  to  their  palace,  where  a  feast  was  soon  prepared 
to  grace  the  marriage  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda,  more 
lovely  than  ever  in  her  bridal  array. 

But  their  wedding  feast  was  troubled  by  a  clang  of 
arms,  when  into  the  hall  burst  Phineus,  kinsman  of  the 
king,  by  whom  the  maid  had  before  been  sought  in 
marriage.  Backed  by  a  throng  of  armed  henchmen,  he 
demanded  his  promised  bride,  hotly  defying  the  favoured 
lover. 

"  No  stranger  is  worthy  to  win  the  daughter  of  our 
land ! "  he  declared ;  and  not  a  few  of  the  guests  cried 
out  on  his  side. 

"  Thou  didst  not  woo  her  when  chained  to  the  rock  ! " 
taunted  Perseus.  "  Neither  suitor  nor  kinsman  stood 
by  her  against  the  monster  from  whose  jaws  I  won 
Andromeda  to  be  mine." 

For  answer  Phineus  hurled  his  spear,  that  stuck 
quivering  in  a  post  beside  Perseus  as  he  stood  with 
his  shield  held  over  Andromeda.  His  sword  flashed 
out  like  lightning,  and  in  a  moment  the  hall  was  filled 
with  uproar.  Song  and  mirth  gave  place  to  the  clash 
and  hiss  of  weapons,  and  the  tables  ran  red  with  blood 
instead  of  wine.     So  many  were  the  followers  and  well- 


84  PERSEUS 

wishers  of  Phineus  that  the  king's  men  could  not  with- 
stand them ;  then  over  the  din  rose  the  hero's  voice : 
"  Let  all  who  are  my  friends  turn  away  their  eyes ! " 
He  held  up  the  Gorgon's  head,  and  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  those  enemies  had  been  turned  to  stone  as  they 
stood,  one  brandishing  a  sword,  one  flinging  a  dart,  and 
Phineus,  last  of  all,  upon  his  knees  as  he  fell  to  beg 
for  his  own  life  when  he  saw  what  befell  his  comrades 
in  rebellion.  Not  thus  could  they  now  disturb  the 
marriage  banquet. 

"Beautiful,  eager,  triumphant,  he  leapt  back  again  to  his  treasure; 
Leapt  back  again,  full  blest,  toward  arms  spread  wide  to  receive  him. 
Brimful  of  honour  he  clasped  her,  and  brimful  of  love  she  caressed 

him, 
Answering  lip  with  lip;  while  above  them  the  queen  Aphrodit^ 
Poured  on  their  foreheads  and  limbs,  unseen,  ambrosial  odours, 
Givers  of  longing,  and  rapture,  and  chaste  content  in  espousals." 

—  C.  Kingslefs  *''' Andromeda  ". 

III.  The  Minister  of  Doom 

Men  say  that  the  rock  from  which  Perseus  loosed 
A^ndromeda  may  still  be  seen  at  Joppa  below  Jerusalem. 
However  that  may  be,  in  the  kingdom  of  Cepheus  he 
built  a  ship,  on  which  to  carry  home  his  bride  to  Seri- 
phos.  He  reached  the  island  to  hear  heartstirring  news. 
His  mother  was  still  alive,  but  Polydectes  had  made  her 
a  slave,  ever  persecuting  her  with  his  hateful  love,  so 
that  she  had  been  driven  to  take  sanctuary  from  him  in 
Athene's  temple.  Spurred  by  wrath,  Perseus  strode  to 
the  hall  of  that  tyrant,  and  found  him  revelling  among 
his  drunken  companions. 

"Ha,  foundling,  whom  we  never  thought  to  see 
again  !  "  was  his  scornful  welcome-  "  Hast  brought  the 
Gorgon's  head?" 


THE   MINISTER   OF   DOOM  85 

"  Behold  ! "  said  Perseus  sternly,  as  he  uncovered  the 
blood-curdling  trophy,  before  which  those  mockers  were 
forthwith  turned  to  stone ;  and  there  they  stand  in  a 
ring,  washed  evermore  by  wind  and  weather. 

In  place  of  Polydectes,  Danae's  son  made  the  good 
Dictys  chief  of  the  island.  Now,  from  his  joyful  mother 
he  learned  how  he  was  grandson  of  the  king  of  Argos, 
and  set  out  forthwith  to  claim  his  rightful  heritage.  But 
first  he  piously  restored  the  magic  gifts  of  the  gods ;  and 
to  Athene  he  gave  the  head  of  that  Gorgon  foe  of  gods 
and  men,  to  be  set  as  a  boss  in  her  dazzling  shield,  and 
serve  her  as  the  dread  -^gis  thrown  over  the  innocent 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  would  do  them  wrong. 

Acrisius  had  heard  with  dread  of  his  grandson  being 
still  alive  and  on  his  way  to  Argos.  Always  bearing  in 
mind  the  words  of  the  oracle  that  he  should  die  by  this 
hand,  he  waited  not  his  coming,  but  fled  to  Larissa  in 
the  land  of  the  Thessalians.  Thither  Perseus  followed, 
hoping  to  persuade  his  grandfather  that  he  meant  him  no 
harm.  He  came  to  Larissa  when  its  king  was  holding 
games,  at  which  old  Acrisius  sat  among  the  onlookers. 
The  young  stranger  joined  in  these  sports,  and  all  won- 
dered how  easily  he  bore  off  the  prize  in  racing  and 
wrestling.  But  when  his  name  ran  from  lip  to  lip, 
Acrisius  shrank  into  the  shade  and  covered  his  face, 
fearing  to  be  known  by  that  fated  offspring. 

It  came  to  throwing  the  quoit,  and  again  Perseus 
hurled  far  beyond  all  his  competitors.  But  there  rose 
a  sudden  gust  of  wind  that  carried  his  strongest  cast 
aside,  so  that  the  quoit  struck  Acrisius,  him  and  no 
other  among  the  throng ;  and  such  a  hurt  was  enough 
to  end  his  old  and  feeble  life. 

Perseus  stood  horror-struck  to  learn  how  by  chance 
he  had  been  the  death  of  his  own  grandsire.     After  bury- 


86  PERSEUS 

ing  the  body  and  purifying  himself  by  due  rites  from  his 
unconscious  guilt,  he  went  back  to  Argos,  but  could  not 
with  a  quiet  mind  keep  the  inheritance  thus  won.  He 
exchanged  his  kingdom  with  the  neighbour  king  of 
Tiryns,  and  built  for  himself  the  great  city  Mycenae. 
There  his  life  was  long,  in  honour  and  welfare,  when 

"  Peaceful  grew  the  land 
The  while  the  ivory  rod  was  in  his  hand. 
For  robbers  fled,  and  good  men  still  waxed  strong. 
And  in  no  house  was  any  sound  of  wrong, 
Until  the  Golden  Age  there  seemed  to  be, 
So  steeped  the  land  was  in  felicity  ". 

— IV.  Morris. 

Many  famous  heroes  sprang  from  one  whom  men 
came  to  look  on  as  half-divine ;  and  after  their  death, 
Perseus  and  Andromeda,  with  Cepheus  and  Cassiope, 
were  placed  by  the  gods  among  the  bright  stars  that 
guide  wandering  mariners. 


ARACHNE 

The  Lydian  Arachne,  daughter  of  a  famed  dyer  in 
purple,  was  herself  still  more  famed  for  rare  skill  in 
weaving.  Not  common  country  folk  alone,  but  nymphs 
of  the  woods  and  the  streams  came  to  watch  how  deftly 
she  plied  her  loom,  and  with  what  wonderful  art  she 
used  the  needle  to  embroider  rich  patterns  on  her  webs. 
So  high  rose  her  name  that  it  reached  Pallas-Athene,  the 
goddess  of  such  arts,  to  whose  inspiration,  men  said,  this 
humbly-born  maiden  must  owe  her  skill.  But  to  say 
that  she  needed  any  teacher  hurt  Arachne*s  pride. 

"Pallas,  indeed!"  she  would  cry,  tossing  her  head. 
"There  is  none  in  heaven  or  earth  with  whom  I  fear  to 
compete.  Let  Pallas  come,  if  she  will,  to  try  her  hand 
against  mine ! " 

"  Nay,  speak  not  so  rashly,"  said  a  grey-haired  old 
woman  who  stood  by  leaning  on  her  staff,  as  the  boastful 
damsel  once  uttered  such  a  challenge.  "  Age  and  experi- 
ence ever  bring  wisdom.  Be  ruled  by  me  and  own  the 
power  of  the  goddess,  for  she  has  graces  to  give  to 
mortals  who  bend  before  her.  No  human  work  is  so 
good  that  it  cannot  be  bettered." 

"  Foolish  old  crone,  keep  thy  counsel  till  it  be  asked 
for ! "  hotly  spoke  back  Arachne.  "  Folks  lose  their 
wits,  also,  by  living  long.  To  thy  slave  or  thy  daughter, 
play  the  mistress.  For  me,  I  need  no  lessons  from 
doting  age,  nor  yet  from  Pallas.  Why  shrinks  she  from 
a  contest  of  our  skill?" 

87 


88  ARACHNE 

"  She  is  here ! "  rang  out  a  queenly  voice ;  for  lo ! 
the  seeming  grandam  had  changed  to  Pallas  herself, 
who  stood  forth  with  flashing  eyes  and  majestic  bearing. 
In  that  disguise  of  feeble  age,  she  had  come  to  spy  on 
her  earthly  rival's  handiwork ;  and  now,  stung  to  haughty 
disdain,  she  offered  to  match  her  art  against  the  Lydian 
spinster's. 

Arachne  had  at  first  flushed  for  astonishment,  but 
soon  she  recovered  her  confidence  and  boldly  accepted 
the  challenge.  The  contest  began  forthwith  :  two  looms 
were  set  up,  at  which  these  eager  rivals  plied  their  best 
craft  and  cunning,  with  such  swiftness  that  ere  long  on 
each  the  growing  tissues  shone  in  all  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow  woven  into  marvellous  devices,  and  shot  with 
threads  of  gold. 

For  her  design  Pallas  chose  the  gods  ranged  upon 
the  Acropolis  at  Athens,  Jove's  awful  majesty  in  the 
midst,  Poseidon  smiting  the  rock  with  his  trident,  her- 
self in  full  panoply  among  the  rest,  who  was  shown 
calling  forth  the  olive  tree  that  made  her  best  gift  to 
man.  About  this  central  group  were  pictured  scenes  of 
impious  mortals  brought  to  confusion,  rebellious  giants 
turned  to  mountains,  and,  for  a  hint  to  her  presumptuous 
rival,  prating  girls  changed  to  screeching  fowl.  Round 
all  ran  a  border  of  olive  foliage,  as  sign  of  whose  handi- 
work this  was,  with  which  few  would  dare  to  vie ! 

The  irreverent  Arachne,  for  her  part,  had  picked  out 
stories  that  cast  shame  or  derision  upon  the  gods.  Zeus 
and  his  brethren  were  shown  wooing  mortals  in  unworthy 
form,  Apollo  humbly  serving  as  a  shepherd  on  earth, 
Dionysus  playing  his  drunken  pranks,  nay,  scandalous 
memories  of  old  Cronos  himself.  From  such  ancient 
tales  she  could  choose  but  too  many  to  fill  out  her  pic- 
ture, all  enclosed  by  a  border  of  ivy  leaves  and  flowers. 


ARACHNE  89 

But  these  scenes  were  worked  in  with  so  cunning  art, 
that  one  could  believe  to  see  real  animals  and  real  waves 
standing  out  before  the  eye  upon  that  accusing  web,  the 
more  offensive  for  its  truth. 

So  Pallas-Athene  felt  when  she  rose  to  examine  the 
other's  work.  With  a  cry  that  was  half  envy  and  half 
indignation,  she  snatched  at  the  too  faithfully  coloured 
cloth,  tearing  it  to  pieces,  and  showering  blows  upon 
the  sly  maker  of  such  a  masterpiece. 

How  might  mortal  maiden  stand  before  the  fair- 
haired  goddess  when  her  eyes  blazed  with  wrath  ?  Thus 
unfairly  beaten,  Arachne  could  not  bear  her  spiteful 
shame.     She  stole  away  to  hang  herself  in  despair. 

Nor  even  then  was  the  wrath  of  Pallas  glutted.  She 
bid  her  rival  live,  yet  in  what  hateful  form !  For  a  spell 
was  woven  round  her  bloated  body,  her  human  features 
disappeared,  her  hair  fell  off,  her  limbs  shrunk  up,  and 
thus  poor  Arachne  hung  as  a  spider,  doomed  for  ever 
to  spin  as  if  mocking  the  skill  that  had  moved  Olympian 
envy. 


Cc;J83) 


MELEAGER  AND  ATALANTA 

I.   The  Boar  Hunt 

In  Calydon,  fair  country  of  ^tolia,  to  King  Oineus 
and  his  wife  Althaea  was  born  a  son  whom  they 
named  Meleager.  And  when  the  babe  was  not  a  week 
old,  there  came  to  the  house  three  lame  and  wrinkled 
old  women,  busy  night  and  day  with  their  distaffs, 
spinning  the  thread  of  men's  life.  For  these  were  no 
other  than  the  Fates,  who,  as  they  bent  over  the  new- 
born child,  croned  out  his  fortune  thus  : — 

"  He  will  grow  a  goodly  man,  like  his  father," 
quoth  the  first. 

"  He  will  be  a  hero  renowned  through  the  world,** 
murmured  the  second. 

"  He  will  live,**  muttered  the  third,  "  only  so  long 
as  that  firebrand  on  the  hearth  remains  unconsumed.** 

The  anxious  mother's  ear  caught  those  words ;  then 
no  sooner  had  the  weird  sisters  vanished,  than  she  rose 
from  her  bed  to  seize  the  firebrand,  quench  it  in  water, 
and  hide  it  away  among  her  most  secret  treasures. 

Young  Meleager  grew  up,  as  had  been  foretold,  a 
son  to  be  the  pride  of  any  mother.  He  made  one  of 
the  band  of  heroes  who  went  with  Jason  to  seek  the 
Golden  Fleece ;  and  when  they  came  home,  another 
feat  of  arms  awaited  him  to  celebrate  his  name  by  the 
slaying  of  the  Calydonian  boar. 

In  his  son's  absence.  King  Oineus  had  drawn  upon 

90 


THE   BOAR   HUNT  91 

himself  the  wrath  of  a  goddess.  As  thanksgiving  for  a 
fruitful  year,  he  loaded  the  altar  of  Demeter  with  corn, 
to  Dionysus  he  poured  out  wine,  and  to  Athene  oil ; 
but  he  forgot  any  sacrifice  to  Artemis,  and  that  haughty 
maiden  avenged  herself  on  the  mortal  who  had  failed 
in  doing  her  honour.  She  sent  into  his  country  a  mon- 
strous boar  with  glowing  eyes  and  foaming  jaws,  its 
bristles  strong  and  sharp  like  sword  points,  its  tusks 
long  as  those  of  an  elephant,  its  breath  so  fiery  as  to 
scare  man  and  beast  when  it  broke  crashing  through  the 
woods.  Wherever  it  ravaged,  the  crops  were  trampled 
down,  the  herds  scattered  at  its  onset,  the  shepherds 
fled  from  their  flocks,  and  the  husbandmen  durst  not 
venture  out  to  pluck  the  fruit  of  their  vines  and  olives, 
left  to  hang  rotting  on  the  trees. 

So  when  Meleager  came  home  from  Colchis,  it  was 
to  find  his  father's  land  laid  waste  by  the  fear  of  this 
monster.  At  once  he  set  about  gathering  hunters  and 
hounds  to  track  it  to  its  lair,  as  no  man  had  yet  dared 
to  do.  He  was  readily  joined  by  several  of  his  fellow 
venturers  on  the  Argo,  not  yet  tired  of  perilous  quests ; 
and  in  all  Greece  could  be  seen  no  such  gallant  band 
as  now  joined  together  to  hunt  down  the  Calydonian 
boar. 

Among  the  rest  came  the  maiden  huntress,  Atalanta, 
of  whom  strange  tales  were  told.  Her  father,  too,  was 
a  king,  and  had  hoped  for  a  son  like  Meleager  to  be 
his  heir;  so,  when  a  daughter  was  born  to  him,  in  his 
anger  he  threw  her  out  to  die  upon  a  wild  mountain. 
But  there  the  child,  men  say,  was  suckled  by  a  she- 
bear,  then  in  its  den  found  by  hunters,  who  brought 
her  up  to  their  own  rude  life.  Thus  she  grew  man- 
like and  hardy,  careless  of  wind  or  weather,  not  less 
bold  than  beautiful,  skilled  to  handle  bow  and  spear. 


92     MELEAGER  AND  ATALANTA 

and  more  willing  to  face  the  fiercest  beast  than  to  listen 
to  tender  words.  All  her  heart  was  set  on  hunting  and 
strenuous  exercises,  and  she  thought  of  men  only  as 
comrades  in  sports,  at  which  few  youths  could  surpass 
her  by  strength  or  courage.  More  than  one,  rashly 
seeking  to  woo  her,  had  rough  handling  to  take  for  his 
answer. 

"Happy  the  man  who  can  find  such  a  mate,"  was 
Meleager's  first  thought  when  he  saw  Atalanta,  with  her 
brown  face  like  a  lad's,  her  hair  loosely  tied  back  upon 
her  broad  shoulders,  bearing  a  spear  as  lightly  as  if  it 
were  a  spindle,  and  carrying  bow  and  quiver  slung  about 
her  sturdy  sun -tanned  limbs.  But  others  murmured 
that  their  quest  was  none  for  women ;  and  grudges 
rose  against  this  unknown  companion,  who  only  asked 
a  chance  to  prove  her  prowess.  It  was  no  time,  indeed, 
for  wooing  nor  for  quarrelling,  so  without  delay  the 
whole  band  set  forth  to  seek  their  fearsome  quarry. 

No  hard  task  was  theirs  to  find  the  boar,  that  soon 
came  raging  through  the  forest  to  meet  those  cham- 
pions. The  nets  were  spread  to  catch  it ;  the  hounds 
were  turned  into  the  thorny  thickets;  but  the  monster 
needed  no  rousing.  Out  of  a  bed  of  reeds  it  broke 
upon  them,  a  grisly  sight  that  set  the  dogs  turning  tail, 
when  their  masters  stood  fast  to  hurl  a  cloud  of  darts, 
and  the  first  spear-point  that  drew  blood  was  Atalanta's. 

Maddened  by  wounds,  with  heaving  sides  and  gnash- 
ing jaws,  the  boar  dashed  among  them  like  a  thunder- 
bolt, laying  low  three  or  four  with  its  dripping  tusks 
before  they  could  fetch  a  blow.  One  was  fain  to  save 
himself  by  swinging  up  into  the  boughs  of  an  oak,  on 
the  trunk  of  which  the  horrid  foe  sharpened  its  deadly 
tusks  in  vain,  till  a  rash  hound  came  within  reach  to  be 
tossed  howling  into  the  air.      One  dog  after  another, 


'    THE   BOAR   HUNT  93 

too,  was  hurt  by  their  own  masters,  as  the  spears  flew 
amiss.  Running  on  with  axe  heaved  above  his  head, 
one  bold  hunter  sHpped  upon  the  grass  wet  with  blood 
and  lay  a  helpless  victim  in  the  monster's  way.  But 
when  the  men  gave  ground  before  its  charge,  Atalanta*s 
arrow  flew  with  so  true  an  aim  that  the  bristling  boar 
again  stopped  short  to  rage  out  its  pain. 

"  Verily,  maiden,  thou  art  the  best  man  of  us  all !  *' 
cried  Meleager ;  and  the  rest,  ashamed  to  be  outdone 
by  a  woman,  once  more  closed  to  the  attack. 

A  score  of  wounds  in  turn  brought  the  monster  to 
the  ground ;  and  when  it  got  to  its  feet  it  was  to  stagger 
and  turn  round  and  round,  blinded  by  blood.  Red 
froth  poured  out  of  its  jaws,  choking  its  angry  growls ; 
its  fiery  eyes  grew  dim ;  and  when  at  length  Meleager 
thrust  his  sword  to  the  hilt  in  its  reeking  sides,  the 
huge  beast  lay  writhing  in  its  own  gore  mingled  with 
that  of  its  conquerors,  never  more  to  be  a  terror  to  the 
land. 

The  boar's  death-throes  were  hardly  at  an  end  be- 
fore Meleager  planted  his  foot  on  its  neck  with  a  shout 
of  exultation.  Making  haste  to  cut  oflF  the  bleeding 
head  and  to  strip  away  the  bristly  skin,  he  offered  these 
trophies  to  Atalanta  as  the  one  that  of  all  had  best 
deserved  them,  though  they  fell  to  himself  whose  for- 
tune was  to  give  the  fatal  stroke.  But  against  this 
some  of  the  hunters  cried  out  in  displeasure,  loudest  of 
all  the  two  Thestiades,  brothers  of  Althaea  and  uncles 
to  Meleager. 

"This  is  no  woman's  work,  nor  is  its  prize  for  a 
maiden  1"  clamoured  the  jealous  men;  and  those  sons 
of  Thestios  made  bold  to  tear  the  spoils  from  Atalanta's 
hands. 

Thus  began  a  brawl  in  which  the  heroes  turned  on 


94     MELEAGER  AND  ATALANTA 

one  another  their  weapons  still  warm  from  the  boar*s 
blood.  So  hot  waxed  the  quarrel,  that  Meleager  in  his 
own  defence  shed  the  life  blood  of  both  those  kinsmen, 
who  would  have  scorned  the  fair  huntress.  So  all  their 
jubilation  was  changed  to  bitterness  and  grief  for  friends 
slain  over  the  body  of  their  foe. 

An  ill  day  was  that  for  the  house  of  Oineus,  on 
which  its  brave  son  made  an  end  of  the  boar.  When 
the  news  came  to  Althaea,  she  had  gone  out  to  the  temple 
to  give  proud  thanks,  but  on  the  way  fell  in  with  a 
mourning  train  that  bore  her  dearly  loved  brothers  to 
their  funeral  pyre.  Too  soon  she  learned  by  whose 
hand  they  had  fallen  ;  then,  beside  herself  for  sorrow, 
she  was  moved  to  curse  her  own  son.  Beating  hef 
breast  and  tearing  her  hair  with  wild  outcry,  she  broke 
open  the  secret  place  in  which  she  kept  hidden  away 
that  quenched  firebrand  that  measured  his  days  of  life. 
Furiously  she  ran  with  it  to  where  the  sacrificial  fire 
burned  on  the  altar.  In  her  madness  she  scarce  knew 
what  she  did,  yet  thrice,  four  times,  she  drew  back  from 
her  unnatural  purpose,  the  mother  and  the  sister  warring 
in  her  breast.  But  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the  blood-stained 
corpses  of  her  own  mother's  sons,  with  shuddering  hand 
and  averted  face  she  hurled  that  brand  upon  the  flame. 
Quickly  was  it  burned  to  ashes ;  then  as  quickly  her 
rage  melted  to  heartbreaking  repentance.  When  soon 
she  heard  what  came  of  her  vengeful  frenzy,  the  woe- 
begone mother  saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  end  her  own 
days,  dying  with  her  brethren,  beside  the  embers  on 
which  she  had  quenched  the  life  of  her  son. 

For  as  Meleager  came  bringing  home  in  triumph  the 
spoils  of  the  great  hunt,  suddenly  his  steps  had  faltered 
and  his  eyes  grew  dim  as  if  blinded  by  the  smoke  ot 
that  consuming  firebrand.     A  hot  fever  filled  his  veins. 


ATALANTA'S   RACE  95 

while  his  heart  dried  up  and  his  spirit  withered  away  as 
a  dead  leaf.  With  a  groan  of  amazement  he  fell  like 
the  trunk  of  some  thunder-stricken  oak,  to  breathe  his 
last  without  a  wound,  nor  ever  knew  how  he  had  come 
to  so  untimely  death.  And  thus  was  accomplished  the 
decree  of  those  fatal  sisters  that  looked  upon  his  birth. 

II.    Atalanta's  Race 

When  the  boar  of  Calydon  had  been  quelled  by 
Meleager's  doughty  band,  Atalanta  would  have  gone 
back  to  her  savage  haunts,  caring  not  to  consort  with 
men  since  he  was  dead  who  alone  had  stirred  her  heart. 
But  that  feat  had  come  to  the  ears  of  her  harsh  sire 
lasos,  who  might  well  be  moved  to  pride  in  such  a 
daughter.  He  sought  her  out  and  brought  her  home 
to  his  kingdom,  still  without  an  heir. 

Many  were  the  suitors  willing  to  win  a  bride  so  fair 
and  so  famous,  daughter  of  a  sonless  king,  and  well  able 
to  hold  her  own  in  arms.  But  Atalanta  would  have 
none  of  them^  choosing  to  remain  a  virgin,  like  the 
goddess  of  hunting  to  whom  she  was  vowed.  Still  she 
practised  manly  exercises,  scorning  all  softness,  and 
having  no  skill  in  women's  work.  When  her  father 
pressed  her  to  wed,  she  made  one  and  another  excuse ; 
then  at  last  agreed  to  take  the  wooer  who  could  out- 
strip her  in  running ;  but  death  to  be  his  lot  if  he  failed 
to  win  the  race. 

Even  on  such  hard  conditions,  brave  and  agile  youths 
came  forward  to  run  for  their  lives  against  Atalanta's 
hand.  She,  fleet  as  a  fawn,  lightly  outran  the  swiftest 
footed ;  and  one  after  another  they  paid  their  rashness 
by  a  cruel  end,  for,  while  the  suitor  must  run  naked 
and  unarmed,  the  fierce  maiden  bore  a  spear,  with  which 


96  MEI.EAGER  AND  ATALANTA 

she  goaded  them  not  to  victory  but  to  death.  Still,  the 
sight  of  their  heads  set  up  as  a  warning  by  the  goal  did 
not  chill  the  hearts  of  other  adventurers,  hoping  to  win 
the  prize  where  so  many  had  shamefully  failed.  Among 
the  rest  was  young  Hippomenes,  who,  while  acting  as 
judge  at  such  a  contest,  had  let  his  own  heart  be  inflamed 
by  Atalanta's  scornful  eyes. 

Before  he  offered  himself  to  the  trial,  not  trusting 
wholly  in  his  breath  and  sinews,  like  the  rest.  Hippo- 
menes  had  implored  the  favour  of  Aphrodite  on  that 
strange  course  of  love.  And  the  goddess  heard  and 
helped  him  with  a  gift,  that  by  her  counsel  should  serve 
him  well.  Three  golden  apples  she  gave  him  to  carry 
in  his  hands  as  he  ran,  and  what  he  was  to  do  with  them 
came  from  her  knowing  the  heart  of  woman  better  than 
was  open  to  man*s  wit. 

Away  went  youth  and  maiden,  racing  towards  the 
goal.  Before  long  Atalanta  was  like  to  pass  her  com- 
petitor, who  then  slyly  threw  down  one  of  the  golden 
apples  to  roll  across  her  way.  Tempted  by  wonder  or 
curiosity,  she  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  while  Hippomenes 
pressed  swiftly  on.  After  brief  delay  it  was  easy  for 
her  to  catch  up  with  him,  but  now  he  threw  away  the 
second  apple,  and  again  she  halted  to  seize  it.  Again 
she  followed  hot-foot,  when  he,  panting  towards  the  goal, 
let  the  third  apple  fall  before  her.  And  lo !  while  once 
more  she  tarried  to  gain  that  glittering  prize,  her  wily 
suitor  had  won  the  race. 

Thus  taken  in  her  own  snare,  the  manlike  maiden 
could  not  but  give  her  hand  to  Hippomenes,  who  hoped 
to  win  her  heart  withal.  But  he,  poor  youth,  had  short 
joy  in  his  fortune.  For,  as  Oineus  neglected  to  pro- 
pitiate Artemis,  so  this  exultant  bridegroom  forgot  to 
eive  thanks  to  Aphrodite  for  her  favouring  aid.    Thereon 


ATALANTA'S   RACE  97 

the  resentful  goddess  no  longer  smiled  but  frowned  upon 
their  love.  She  led  them  into  offence  against  Rhea, 
mighty  mother  of  the  gods,  who  transformed  that  bold 
runner  and  his  ungentle  bride  into  a  pair  of  lions,  har- 
nessed to  her  car  when  she  drove  forth  amid  a  wild 
din  of  horns  and  cymbals. 


C  288  5  a 


HERCULES 

I.  His  Youth 

Hercules,  whom  the  Greeks  called  Herakles,  was 
the  strongest  man  on  earth,  being  indeed  of  the  blood 
of  the  gods.  Amphitryon,  king  of  Tiryns,  passed  for 
his  father,  who  had  married  Alcmene,  granddaughter 
of  Perseus ;  but  his  true  sire  was  Zeus  himself,  who 
had  deceived  this  queen  in  the  form  of  her  husband. 
When  his  birth  was  at  hand,  the  ruler  of  Olympus  pro- 
claimed that  the  child  born  that  day  should  be  lord  ovef 
all  Greece.  Then  Hera,  in  hatred  of  her  secret  step- 
son, brought  about  that  his  birth  was  hindered,  and  that 
his  cousin  Eurystheus  came  into  the  world  before  him, 
whereby  afterwards  Hercules  was  doomed  to  serve  that 
unworthy  kinsman. 

Alcmene  so  well  guessed  how  the  jealous  mistress 
of  heaven  would  plot  against  her  son,  that  she  durst 
not  nurse  him  at  home,  but  had  him  exposed  in  a  field, 
trusting  that  Zeus  would  not  fail  to  protect  his  own 
offspring.  There,  then,  came  by  Hera  and  Athene, 
wondering  at  this  sight  of  a  naked,  new-born  child. 
Hera,  unaware  who  it  was,  caught  up  the  babe  to  hold 
it  to  her  breast,  but  it  sucked  so  violently  that  she  threw 
it  down  in  anger.  Athene,  more  patient  and  pitiful, 
carried  the  unknown  Hercules  to  the  city,  and  gave 
him  to  his  own  mother  to  be  brought  up  as  a  foundling. 

Joyfully  Alcmene  undertook  to  rear  her  child,  hoping 

96 


HIS  YOUTH  99 

that  the  few  drops  of  Hera's  milk  he  had  sucked  would 
save  him  from  the  goddess's  ill-will.  But  when  Hera 
came  to  know  who  was  the  babe  she  had  saved  from 
death,  her  heart  was  hot  with  spite.  She  sent  two  snakes 
to  kill  him  in  his  cradle.  While  his  mother  slept,  those 
ministers  of  her  vengeance  had  twisted  themselves  about 
the  child's  neck.  The  nurse  sitting  by  could  not  move 
nor  speak  for  horror.  But  Hercules  awoke  with  a 
shout  that  roused  his  anxious  mother  to  see  how  her 
lusty  babe  had  caught  one  snake  in  each  hand,  and 
laughingly  strangled  them  before  they  could  do  him 
harm.  Alcmene's  cries  in  turn  brought  in  her  husband 
with  drawn  sword,  who  might  well  stand  amazed  at  such 
a  feat  of  infant  strength.  He  sent  for  Tiresias  to  cast 
the  child's  fortune ;  and  that  blind  seer  now  let  him 
know  the  origin  and  destiny  of  Hercules. 

Henceforth  Amphitryon  spared  no  pains  on  the 
bringing  up  of  so  wonderful  a  foster-son.  He  himself 
taught  the  boy  to  tame  horses  and  to  drive  a  chariot. 
The  most  famous  teachers  of  arts  and  exercises  were 
sought  out  for  him  all  over  Greece,  among  them  Linus, 
son  of  Apollo,  to  be  his  master  in  music.  But  when 
Linus  one  day  would  have  chastised  this  sturdy  pupil, 
Hercules  smote  him  to  death  with  one  blow  of  the  lute, 
thus  early  indulging  the  hot  temper  that  was  to  cost 
him  dear.  After  this  Amphitryon  sent  him  from  home 
to  dwell  among  his  herdsmen  on  the  mountains,  where 
he  grew  taller  and  stronger  than  any  man  in  Greece, 
able  to  fell  an  ox  with  his  fist,  and  never  missing  his 
aim  with  the  bow  or  the  spear.  He  is  also  said  to  have 
made  one  of  that  fellowship  of  young  heroes  who  were 
schooled  in  the  cave  of  the  wise  Centaur  Cheiron. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  full-grown  youth  must 
choose  whether  his  strength  should  be  turned  to  good 


loo  HERCULES 

or  evil.  Wandering  alone,  he  met  two  beautiful  women, 
each  beckoning  him  to  follow  her  on  a  different  path. 
She  who  spoke  first  was  full-fed  and  richly  arrayed ;  her 
eyes  shone  with  pride  and  lust ;  and  her  wanton  charms 
seemed  heightened  by  meretricious  art. 

"My  name,"  spoke  she,  "is  Pleasure,  loved  by  the 
most  of  men.  See  how  my  path  is  broad  and  easy  and 
soft  to  the  feet !  Take  this  way  and  thou  shalt  never 
want  rich  food  and  drink,  nor  fine  raiment  and  soft  beds, 
nor  any  cheer  of  life,  and  all  without  pain  or  peril.  For 
I  lead  my  friends  far  from  strife  and  suffering,  and  give 
them  only  sweet  things  for  which  other  men  have  toiled. 
Come,  then,  with  me  ! " 

The  youth  looked  willingly  at  this  fair  temptress, 
yet  before  taking  her  hand,  he  turned  to  the  other,  who 
pointed  out  an  opposite  way.  She  appeared  more  modest 
and  maidenly,  clad  in  simple  white  without  gauds  or 
jewels,  and  in  a  low  voice  she  spoke  thus : — 

"  My  name  is  Duty,  whom  no  man  dares  to  scorn, 
yet  few  learn  to  love.  My  path  indeed  will  prove  steep 
and  thorny,  and  on  it  I  promise  not  ease  and  pleasure, 
but  labour  and  smarting,  without  which  no  man  gains 
the  best  gifts  of  the  gods.  Yet  pain  bravely  borne  shall 
turn  to  joy  and  pride  for  him  who  faces  the  foes  of  life, 
wrestling  with  his  own  fate,  and  bearing  the  burdens  of 
weaker  men.  So  shall  he  who  follows  me  win  honour 
and  peace  upon  earth,  and  at  last  his  birthright  among 
the  gods." 

"Say  rather  how  he  may  come  to  die  betimes  on 
that  perilous  path  of  thine!"  cried  Pleasure  with  a 
mocking  laugh. 

"Aye,"  whispered  Duty,  "but  those  worthy  to  go 
with  me  think  noble  death  better  than  to  live  in  sloth 
and  folly." 


HIS   LABOURS  loi 

For  a  moment  the  hero  stood  in  doubt,  then  his 
swelling  heart  went  out  to  Duty,  and  he  gave  her  his 
hand.  Thus  was  made  the  Choice  of  Hercules,  whose 
sorest  sufferings  would  come  when  he  strayed  from  that 
toilsome  path. 

11.   His  Labours 

Having  chosen  Duty  as  his  guide,  Hercules  followed 
her  to  become  the  most  famous  champion  of  his  age. 
He  slew  cruel  giants,  he  exterminated  fierce  wild  beasts; 
everywhere  he  hastened  to  help  the  oppressed.  Gods  as 
well  as  men  hailed  his  mighty  deeds.  iVthene  equipped 
him  in  armour  from  her  own  temple;  Hermes  gave  him 
a  resistless  sword ;  Apollo  furnished  him  with  sharp 
arrows;  and  he  bore  a  famous  pictured  shield,  the  work 
of  Hephaestus  at  the  bidding  of  Zeus.  Thus  arrayed, 
he  flew  to  the  aid  of  Thebes  when  it  was  threatened 
by  an  invader  haughtily  demanding  tribute.  This  city, 
indeed,  was  dear  to  Hercules,  since  his  reputed  father 
Amphitryon,  his  own  kingdom  given  up,  had  made  his 
home  there.  In  the  battle  for  its  defence  Amphitryon 
fell ;  but  the  prowess  of  his  son  gained  the  victory. 
The  grateful  Creon,  king  of  Thebes,  gave  Hercules 
his  daughter  Megara  in  marriage ;  and  it  seemed  as 
if  he  had  no  more  to  wish  for  on  earth. 

But  nothing  could  make  Hera  forget  her  hatred  to 
this  son  of  Zeus.  She  sent  upon  the  hero  a  furious 
madness,  in  which  he  threw  his  own  children  upon  a 
fire  and  drove  his  wife  from  him  in  horror.  When  his 
frenzy  passed  away,  letting  him  know  what  he  had  done, 
he  fell  into  deep  melancholy,  and  for  a  time  was  seen  no 
more  among  men,  while  he  sought  pardon  and  healing 
from  the  gods.      As  penance  it  was  appointed  him  to 


I02  HERCULES 

become  vassal  to  his  kinsman  Eurystheus,  he  who,  by 
Hera*s  cunning  trick,  had  gained  the  birthright  promised 
by  Zeus.  Humbly  Hercules  stooped  his  pride  to  serve 
that  poor-spirited  and  faint-hearted  lord,  spending  now 
the  best  years  of  his  manhood  in  labours  beyond  the 
power  of  any  but  himself.  On  ten  weary  errands  must 
he  go  at  the  bidding  of  Eurystheus,  before  he  could  be 
his  own  man  again  :  such  was  the  decree  given  forth  from 
the  oracle  at  Delphi. 

The  first  task  set  him  was  to  slay  the  Nemean  lion, 
a  savage  monster  that  had  long  kept  the  land  of  Argolis 
in  dread ;  it  was  invulnerable  to  all  weapons,  being  of 
the  blood  of  that  hundred -headed  Typhon  buried  by 
Zeus  beneath  the  roots  of  Etna.  Armed  only  with  his 
bow,  and  with  a  wild  olive  tree  he  tore  up  by  the  roots 
to  make  him  a  club,  Hercules  hunted  through  the  forest 
of  Nemea  where  the  lion  had  its  lair.  Before  long  its 
fearsome  roar  led  him  to  a  thicket,  from  which  it  burst 
towards  him  open-mouthed,  with  jaws  and  mane  dripping 
blood.  Hercules  drew  his  bow  with  true  aim,  but  one 
and  another  arrow  fell  harmless  from  the  creature's  hide, 
that  could  not  be  pierced  by  the  sharpest  point.  But 
with  his  club  the  hero  laid  it  low  in  the  act  to  spring ; 
then,  flinging  away  his  weapons,  he  threw  himself  upon 
the  writhing  beast,  cast  his  arms  round  its  neck,  and 
choked  it  to  death.  He  had  much  ado  to  tear  off  its 
skin,  hard  as  iron ;  but  when  he  had  flayed  it  with  its 
own  sharp  claws,  he  hung  the  skin  about  him  as  a  gar- 
ment and  helmed  himself  with  its  head.  By  these  spoils 
and  by  his  huge  club,  this  lion -killer  was  henceforth 
known  wherever  he  went.  So  terrible  did  he  appear 
bringing  back  such  trophies,  that  the  cowardly  Eurys- 
theus shrunk  from  meeting  him  face  to  face,  but  sent 


HIS   LABOURS  103 

out    his    further  commands    for    Hercules   by  another's 
voice. 

The  second  task  laid  upon  Hercules  was  to  quell 
a  monster  haunting  the  marshes  of  Lerna.  This  was 
the  Hydra,  that  huge  snake  with  nine  heads,  one  of 
which  could  not  be  hurt  by  any  weapon,  and  the  others 
would  grow  again  as  fast  as  they  were  cut  off.  Accom- 
panied by  his  nephew  lolaus,  the  hero  set  out  for  Lerna 
in  a  swift  chariot,  and  soon  found  the  wooded  hill  where 
the  Hydra  kept  itself  hidden.  Leaving  his  nephew 
beside  the  horses,  with  fiery  arrows  he  fetched  the  crea- 
ture from  out  of  its  hole,  to  swoop  upon  him,  hissing 
and  spitting  from  all  its  heads,  that  waved  like  branches 
in  a  storm.  Undismayed,  Hercules  met  its  onset  and 
mowed  down  the  twisting  heads  one  by  one,  yet  as  fast 
as  he  cut  them  off  two  grew  up  in  place  of  one,  while 
it  twined  its  loathsome  body  round  his  limbs  and  almost 
stifled  him  with  its  foul  breath.  He  was  fain  to  call  for 
the  help  of  lolaus,  who  ran  up  with  a  torch;  then  as 
Hercules  shore  off  the  bristling  heads,  his  nephew  seared 
each  bleeding  wound,  so  that  they  could  not  grow  again. 
At  last  the  raging  Hydra  was  left  with  that  one  head  no 
iron  could  wound ;  but  he  crushed  it  with  his  club,  and 
tore  it  off  and  buried  it  in  the  ground  under  a  heavy 
rock.  In  its  poisonous  blood  the  conqueror  dipped  his 
arrows,  to  make  the  hurt  from  them  henceforth  incur- 
able. 

His  third  labour  was  to  bring  in  alive  the  golden- 
antlered  and  brazen-hoofed  stag  Cerynitis,  that  roamed 
free  upon  the  Arcadian  hills.  A  bold  man  he  would 
have  been  who  should  slay  that  beast,  sacred  as  it  was 
to  Artemis.     For  a  year  Hercules  chased  it  in  its  native 


I04  HERCULES 

haunts  and  far  beyond ;  it  led  him  out  of  Greece  to 
Thrace ;  and  on  over  barbarous  wildernesses,  and  deep 
into  the  northern  darkness.  Foiled  again  and  again,  he 
had  nothing  for  it  but  to  lame  the  agile  stag  with  a  dart, 
then  could  catch  it  to  bear  home  on  his  shoulders.  By 
the  way  he  fell  in  with  Artemis,  wroth  against  him  for 
hurting  a  beast  under  her  protection.  But  a  hero  can 
soothe  even  an  offended  goddess;  and  she  let  him  carry 
the  stag  to  Eurystheus. 

The  fourth  labour  was  to  catch  a  grimmer  beast, 
that  boar  that  ravaged  the  Erymanthian  mountain  ridge 
between  Attica  and  Elis.  On  his  way  to  this  adventure, 
Hercules  brought  on  a  strange  battle,  against  his  will. 
He  was  entertained  by  a  Centaur  named  Pholus,  who  set 
before  him  meat  enough  but  no  wine,  for  he  had  only 
one  cask,  the  gift  of  Dionysus,  which  belonged  to  the 
Centaurs  in  common,  and  must  not  be  opened  unless  all 
the  race  were  there  to  share  it.  Yet  Hercules  persuaded 
his  host  to  broach  that  cask ;  and  when  the  fumes  of 
strong  wine  spread  through  the  woods,  the  other  Cen- 
taurs came  trampling  up,  armed  with  rocks  and  fir 
branches.  In  their  anger  over  the  broached  cask,  they 
would  have  fallen  upon  the  stranger,  who  stoutly  defended 
himself,  and  his  invincible  arrows  drove  them  to  take 
shelter  in  the  cave  of  Cheiron,  his  old  teacher.  That 
good  Centaur,  in  the  fray,  was  hurt  by  a  chance  arrow, 
which,  dipped  in  the  Hydra's  poisonous  blood,  killed  him 
in  slow  agony,  all  his  own  arts  of  healing  being  in  vain. 
Pholus,  too,  the  kindly  host,  died  from  handling  one  of 
those  deadly  arrows,  which  he  let  fall  on  his  foot.  Having 
mournfully  done  the  last  offices  to  those  friends  on  whom 
he  had  brought  such  suffering,  Hercules  held  on  to  the 
haunts  of  the  Erymanthian  boar,  which  he  drove  from 


HIS   LABOURS  105 

the  forests  up  to  the  bare  crests,  and  wearied  it  out  with 
chasing  in  deep  snowdrifts  till  he  could  bind  it  with  cords 
to  bring  alive  to  Eurystheus. 

His  fifth  labour  was  cleansing  in  a  single  day  the 
stables  of  Augeas,  king  of  Elis,  who  kept  three  thousand 
cattle,  but  for  thirty  years  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to 
clear  out  the  enclosures  heaped  with  their  filth.  When 
he  saw  Hercules  present  himself  for  a  task  so  unworthy 
of  a  hero,  Augeas  laughed,'and  lightly  promised  him  one- 
tenth  of  his  herds,  if  he  would  do  the  work  that  seemed 
beyond  a  giant's  power.  But  Hercules  was  crafty  as  well 
as  stout.  He  saw  how  the  rivers  Peneus  and  Alpheus 
flowed  hard  by,  whose  waters  he  brought  by  a  new 
channel  to  sweep  through  the  Augean  stables,  and  thus 
cleansed  them  out  in  a  day.  Now  that  Augeas  heard 
how  he  came  sent  by  Eurystheus  for  this  very  task,  he 
was  for  refusing  the  promised  reward;  but  Hercules  held 
him  to  his  offer,  calling  to  witness  against  him  his  own 
son  Phyleus,  in  whose  presence  it  was  made ;  and  when 
Phyleus  testified  truly,  the  angry  father  drove  him  from 
home,  along  with  the  hero  who  had  done  him  so  good 
service.  Years  later,  Hercules  came  back  to  teach  that 
churlish  lord  how  ill  he  had  done  in  breaking  his  word 
with  such  a  servant. 

The  sixth  labour  was  hunting  out  the  Stymphalides, 
those  same  arrow-feathered  birds  of  prey  that  troubled 
the  voyage  of  the  Argonauts.  Lake  Stymphalis  in 
Arcadia  was  their  breeding  place,  which  Hercules  found 
black  with  such  a  throng  of  the  mischievous  fowl  that 
he  knew  not  how  to  deal  with  them.  But  Athene,  god- 
dess of  invention,  came  to  his  aid,  giving  him  a  huge 
pail   of  brass  clappers  made  by  Hephaestus,  to  raise  a 


io6  HERCULES 

rattle  louder  than  all  the  screeching  of  the  birds. 
Taking  post  on  a  hill,  Hercules  startled  them  up  by 
the  clappers,  then,  as  they  rose  in  the  air,  shot  them 
down  with  his  deadly  arrows ;  and  those  that  flew  away 
were  so  scared  as  never  again  to  be  seen  in  Greece. 

The  seventh  labour  was  to  master  a  bull  wandering 
madly  about  the  island  of  Crete.  Minos,  its  king,  will- 
ingly gave  him  leave  to  chase  down  this  pest  that  worked 
havoc  through  his  dominions,  and  no  man  had  yet  been 
able  to  tame  it.  But  Hercules  caught  the  bull,  and 
mounted  its  back,  and  rode  it  through  the  sea  to  Greece. 
There  Eurystheus  turned  it  loose,  again  to  be  a  terror 
to  the  people,  till  it  was  hunted  down  on  the  plain  of 
Marathon  by  Theseus,  him  who  ever  took  pride  in  doing 
deeds  after  the  pattern  of  his  great  kinsman. 

The  eighth  labour  of  Hercules  was  to  catch  the  mares 
of  Diomedes,  a  Thracian  chief,  who  reared  his  horses  to 
be  savage  as  himself  by  feeding  them  on  human  flesh. 
The  hero  first  took  Diomedes  captive  and  gave  him  as 
food  to  his  own  wild  mares,  which  after  devouring  their 
master,  let  Hercules  drive  them  away  quietly  as  kids. 
Yet  they  were  not  wholly  weaned  from  their  fierce  nature, 
as,  while  he  made  a  stand  against  the  Thracians  pursuing 
him,  the  troop  of  mares  tore  in  pieces  his  companion 
Abderus,  set  to  guard  them  ;  and  Hercules  had  to  tame 
them  afresh.  Men  say  that  a  horse  of  this  breed  was 
that  Bucephalus  long  afterwards  mastered  by  Alexander 
of  Macedon. 

The  ninth  labour  was  to  win  for  Eurystheus's  daughter 
the  girdle  of  Hippolyte,  gift  of  Ares  to  that  queen  of  the 
warlike  Amazons,  who  lived  far  away  in  Asia.      So  un- 


HIS   LABOURS  107 

womanlike  were  they  as  to  kill  all  their  male  children ; 
and  they  burned  away  their  right  breasts  not  to  be 
hindered  in  the  use  of  the  bow.  Hippolyte  was  so 
charmed  by  the  looks  and  bearing  of  this  foe  that  she 
offered  to  give  up  her  girdle  freely.  But  Hera,  taking 
the  form  of  an  Amazon,  stirred  up  the  virago  people 
against  him,  nor  could  her  stepson  bring  off  that  trophy 
without  a  hard  battle.  As  he  carried  it  back  to  Greece, 
Hercules  passed  by  Troy,  and  there  saved  the  daughter 
of  its  king  Laomedon  from  the  claws  of  a  monster,  as 
Perseus  freed  Andromeda.  This  king,  also,  cheated 
the  hero  of  his  promised  reward ;  then  Hercules  vowed 
to  come  back  and  leave  no  stone  of  Troy  standing  upon 
another,  as  he  did  in  after-years. 

The  tenth  labour  for  Eurystheus,  that  should  have 
been  the  last,  was  to  bring  a  herd  of  red  cattle  belonging 
to  the  giant  Geryon,  from  the  island  Erythia  by  the 
western  ocean,  where  they  fed  under  guard  of  the  two- 
headed  dog  Orthrus ;  and  Geryon  himself  was  so  mon- 
strous that  he  had  three  bodies,  three  heads,  six  arms, 
and  six  feet,  being  the  son  of  Chrysaor,  a  giant  engen- 
dered from  the  blood  of  Medusa,  slain  by  Perseus.  The 
more  Hercules  toiled  for  his  kinsman,  the  more  that 
cowardly  king  hated  him,  envying  his  prowess;  and  now 
Eurystheus  hoped  to  be  rid  of  him,  sent  so  far  against 
such  a  foe.  But  Hercules  set  out  cheerful  and  undis- 
mayed, undertaking  by  the  way  exploits  that  would  have 
appalled  most  men.  Reaching  the  straits  of  Gades,  he 
there  set  up  two  landmarks  henceforth  famed  as  the 
pillars  of  Hercules.  Thirsty  after  long  wandering  through 
waterless  deserts,  the  heat  of  the  sun  so  irked  him  that 
he  dared  to  point  his  arrows  against  Phoebus,  lord  of  the 
sky.     Yet  noble  Apollo  took  no  offence  at  his  boldness, 


fo8  HERCULES 

but  favoured  him  with  a  golden  boat  In  which  he  passed 
over  to  Erythia,  where  he  slew  the  three-headed  giant 
and  his  two-headed  dog,  nay,  shot  an  arrow  into  the 
breast  of  Hera's  self,  who  came  to  the  aid  of  that  monster 
against  the  man  she  ever  hated. 

Geryon's  herd  he  then  drove  home  over  seas  and 
rivers  and  mountains,  yet  not  without  fresh  perils  on  the 
way.  As  he  passed  through  Italy,  the  fire  -  breathing 
giant  Cacus  stole  part  of  the  cattle  while  their  keeper 
lay  asleep.  To  leave  no  plain  trace  of  the  theft,  he 
dragged  them  into  his  cave  backwards  by  the  tail.  De- 
ceived by  this  trick,  when  he  had  searched  all  round, 
Hercules  gave  them  up  for  lost;  but  as  he  drove  the 
rest  of  the  herd  past  that  hidden  cave,  the  beasts  shut 
up  within  lowed  back  to  their  fellows.  To  seek  them 
out  was  to  put  himself  face  to  face  with  Cacus,  who 
found  too  late  how  ill  it  was  to  rob  such  a  stranger. 
Having  slain  the  thievish  giant,  Hercules  went  on  with 
the  herd,  and  still  had  much  ado  to  keep  them  together, 
for  Hera  sent  a  gadfly  to  drive  them  wild  among  the 
hills ;  and  she  flooded  a  water  on  his  way,  which  he  could 
not  cross  till  he  had  filled  up  the  channel  with  stones. 
It  was  then  that  he  wandered  far  into  the  wilds  of 
Scythia,  and  there  dealt  with  another  monster,  half- 
woman,  half-serpent.  But  in  the  end  he  brought  the 
herd  safe  to  Greece,  to  make  for  Eurystheus  a  rich 
sacrifice  to  that  ungracious  queen  of  heaven. 

When  now  the  hero  hoped  to  be  free,  that  mean- 
minded  king  still  claimed  his  service.  Two  of  the  tasks 
he  had  accomplished  Eurystheus  refused  to  count  among 
the  ten  :  the  slaying  of  the  Hydra,  because  then  Hercules 
had  his  nephew's  help ;  and  the  cleansing  of  the  Augean 
stables,  because  for  that  he  had  taken  hire.     So  he  must 


HIS   LABOURS  109 

undertake  two  more  labours,  making  twelve  in  all ;  and 
the  last  were  the  worst. 

He  was  next  sent  to  pluck  three  golden  apples  from 
a  garden  given  by  Gaia,  the  earth-mother,  to  Zeus  and 
Hera  on  their  marriage.  The  Garden  of  the  Hesperides 
it  was  called,  from  those  four  nymphs,  daughters  of  Night, 
who  kept  it ;  and  for  warder  it  had  a  sleepless  hundred- 
headed  dragon.  No  man  even  knew  where  this  garden 
lay;  and  Hercules,  in  search  of  it,  had  to  wander  far  and 
wide,  everywhere  slaying  giants  and  monsters  with  his 
mighty  club,  nay  once  he  came  to  blows  with  Ares  him- 
self, but  Zeus  by  a  thunderbolt  parted  those  kinsmen  of 
Olympian  blood.  At  last  the  friendly  nymphs  of  the 
Eridanus  counselled  the  hero  to  ask  his  way  from  Nereus, 
Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  who  knew  all  things.  So  Hercules 
did,  coming  upon  Nereus  while  he  slept  clad  in  dripping 
seaweeds,  to  bind  him  and  hold  fast  his  slippery  body 
for  all  the  changing  forms  it  was  his  way  to  take,  till, 
weary  of  the  struggle,  he  told  how  to  find  the  island 
Garden  of  the  Hesperides  in  the  western  ocean. 

Further  directions  he  should  get  from  Prometheus, 
who  now  for  thirty  years  had  been  chained  to  an  icy  crag 
of  the  Caucasus,  exposed  by  turns  to  scorching  sun  and 
freezing  winds,  while  daily  tormented  by  the  talons  of  an 
eagle,  or  as  some  say,  a  vulture,  the  minister  of  Zeus. 
As  Hercules  strode  across  those  giant  mountains,  he  saw 
this  bird  flying  on  its  cruel  errand,  and  shot  it  with  one 
of  his  fatal  arrows.  Thus  guided  to  the  place  of  punish- 
ment that  should  last  for  ages,  it  was  easy  for  the  hero 
to  tear  Prometheus  loose ;  nor  did  Zeus  resent  that  bold- 
ness of  his  son,  but  laid  aside  his  ire  against  the  friend 
of  man.  The  grateful  prisoner,  wise  with  age  and  lonely 
sorrow,  repaid  his  release  by  good  counsels  for  Hercules, 
bidding  to  seek  out  Atlas  and  ask  him  to  fetch  the  golden 


no  HERCULES 

apples  from  the  Hesperides,  who  were  thought  to  be  his 
children. 

So  the  messenger  of  Eurystheus  held  on  to  Africa, 
and  first  he  came  to  Egypt,  where  the  king,  Busiris,  had 
harsh  welcome  for  strangers.  Years  before,  a  famine 
falling  on  his  land,  a  certain  soothsayer  from  Cyprus  told 
how  the  gods'  anger  might  be  turned  away  by  yearly 
sacrifice  of  some  man  not  born  on  the  soil.  Busiris  made 
this  soothsayer  his  first  sacrifice ;  and  every  year  some 
stranger  was  marked  for  death.  So  Hercules,  taken  as 
a  goodly  victim,  was  brought  to  the  sacrifice  with  laughter 
in  his  heart,  for  he  burst  the  bonds  like  thread,  killed  the 
king  at  his  own  altar,  and  went  his  way  from  among  the 
terrified  Egyptians. 

In  Africa  he  overcame  a  doughtier  foe,  the  giant 
Antaeus,  who  challenged  all-comers  to  wrestle  with  him 
for  life  or  death,  and  could  vanquish  most  men  by  the 
fresh  strength  it  was  his  nature  to  draw  in  as  often  as 
he  touched  his  mother-earth.  But  the  hero  had  craft  as 
well  as  strength  to  hold  Antaeus  up  in  the  air  and  there 
choke  the  breath  out  of  him,  so  that  he  troubled  travellers 
no  more.  Hercules  also  cleared  the  Libyan  sands  of  wild 
beasts,  as  was  his  wont  wherever  he  came. 

So,  after  long  travel,  he  found  Atlas,  where  that  weary 
giant  bears  up  the  weight  of  the  world.  Hercules  offered 
to  take  the  burden  for  a  time  on  his  own  shoulders  if 
Atlas  would  go  for  the  golden  apples,  as  he  consented  to 
do.  But  when  he  came  back  with  three  apples  robbed 
from  the  garden,  Atlas  was  unwilling  to  shoulder  his 
heavy  load  again,  now  that  he  had  felt  what  it  was  to 
stretch  his  limbs  freely.  The  hero  had  to  use  cunning 
when  force  would  not  serve  him.  Feigning  to  be  con- 
tent, he  only  asked  Atlas  to  hold  the  world  for  a  little, 
while  he  wound  cords  about  his  own  aching  head  to  ease 


HIS  LABOURS  in 

the  pressure.  The  dull-witted  giant  did  so ;  but  no 
sooner  had  he  the  world  on  his  back  again,  than  Hercules 
made  off  with  the  golden  apples,  leaving  Atlas  taken  by 
his  own  trick. 

When  once  more  he  came  back  safe  and  successful, 
his  unkind  kinsman  saw  with  despair  how  from  all  the 
perilous  labours  laid  upon  him  Hercules  but  won  more 
glory  and  goodwill  as  a  benefactor  of  men.  To  make  an 
end  of  him,  Eurystheus  chose  a  task  that  seemed  beyond 
the  might  of  any  mortal ;  he  sent  his  ever-victorious 
champion  to  fetch  from  the  nether  world  Cerberus,  the 
three-headed  hound  of  hell.  For  this  enterprise,  Her- 
cules piously  prepared  himself  by  visiting  Eleusis,  there 
being  initiated  into  its  mysteries  and  cleansed  from  the 
guilt  of  the  Centaurs'  blood.  He  then  went  to  Taenarum, 
the  southernmost  point  of  the  Peloponnesus,  where  a  dark 
cave  opened  as  one  of  the  gates  of  Hades.  The  god 
Hermes  led  him  below  into  that  chill  under-world,  where 
the  thin  shades  fled  in  affright  from  a  being  of  flesh  and 
blood;  but  Medusa  stood  to  face  him,  and  he  would 
have  drawn  his  sword  upon  her,  had  not  Hermes  held 
his  hand,  bidding  him  remember  how  ghosts  could  no 
more  be  hurt  by  iron.  The  shade  of  Meleager,  too, 
ventured  up  to  whisper  to  him  a  message  of  love  for  his 
mourning  sister  Deianira,  of  which  more  was  to  come 
than  he  knew. 

Near  the  gates  of  Hades,  Hercules  was  amazed  to 
find  two  living  men  chained  to  the  black  rock,  and  still 
more  when  he  recognized  them  as  his  old  comrades 
Theseus  and  Peirithous.  For  Peirithous,  king  of  the 
Lapithae,  who  fought  their  great  battle  with  the  Centaurs, 
had  been  so  exalted  with  pride  that  he  ventured  to  woo 
Persephone  in  hell  itself,  and  his  dear  friend  Theseus 


112  HERCULES 

accompanied  him  on  the  too  daring  errand ;  then,  seized 
by  Pluto,  they  were  both  condemned  to  endless  prison 
among  the  dead.  Hope  shone  in  their  eyes  at  the  sight 
of  Hercules;  pitiably  they  cried  to  him  for  help,  which 
he  did  not  grudge.  He  caught  Theseus  by  the  hand  to 
tear  him  loose  from  his  chains;  and  the  king  of  Athens 
could  thus  win  back  for  a  time  to  the  upper  world.  But 
when  the  hero  would  have  freed  Peirithous  also,  the 
rocks  shook  as  from  an  earthquake,  and  he  must  leave 
that  presumptuous  man  fast  bound  to  his  fate. 

Yet  so  bold  was  he  that  he  slew  a  bull  of  Pluto's 
cattle,  pouring  the  blood  into  a  trench  for  the  wan  ghosts 
to  get  a  taste  of  life ;  and  when  the  herdsman  would 
have  hindered,  Hercules  crushed  his  ribs,  hardly  letting 
him  go  but  at  the  entreaty  of  his  mistress  Persephone. 
In  such  manner  the  hero  stormed  through  hell  till  he 
came  at  last  face  to  face  with  its  dark-browed  king,  who 
barred  his  further  passage.  The  undaunted  one  shot 
an  arrow  into  Pluto's  shoulder,  making  him  roar  for  pain 
never  felt  before.  Thus  aware  that  this  was  an  asker  not 
to  be  denied,  on  learning  his  errand  grim  Pluto  gave 
him  leave  to  carry  away  Cerberus,  if  he  could  master  it 
with  his  hands  alone,  using  no  weapon.  Then  at  the 
mouth  of  Acheron,  Hercules  gripped  that  hellish  watch- 
dog by  the  throat,  and,  for  all  the  terror  of  its  three 
barking  heads,  its  poison-dripping  teeth,  and  its  stinging 
tail  like  a  scorpion's,  he  swung  the  loathly  monster  over 
his  back  and  brought  it  up  to  earth  to  cast  before  the 
feet  of  Eurystheus. 

This  king,  aghast  at  the  very  sight,  could  do  nothing 
with  Cerberus  but  let  it  go.  As  for  Hercules,  triumphant 
in  every  ordeal,  Eurystheus  gave  up  in  despair  his  mas- 
tership over  such  a  hero,  and  set  him  free  on  condition 
that  he  put  back  the  monster  at  its  fearsome  watch  post. 


HIS   DEATH  113 


III.  His  Death 


Thus  released  from  his  long  servitude,  Hercules  still 
wandered  about  the  world  doing  mighty  deeds  of  strength 
to  aid  his  fellow  men.  Yet  ever  Hera's  ill  will  followed 
him,  clouding  his  mind,  so  that  here  and  there  he  turned 
aside  from  the  chosen  path  of  virtue.  Athene  for  her 
part  stood  by  him  with  help  and  counsel ;  and  Zeus 
looked  kindly  upon  the  feats  of  his  son,  nor  did  he  spare 
to  chastise  his  spiteful  queen  when  she  took  on  her  to 
send  storms  upon  the  hero's  course.  How  he  sailed 
with  the  Argonauts,  how  he  dealt  with  the  false  king 
of  Troy,  how  he  brought  back  Alcestis  to  the  house  of 
Admetus,  are  famous  tales  often  told. 

Long  ago,  he  had  parted  from  his  wife  Megara,  when 
he  madly  slew  her  children ;  and  in  time  he  sought 
another  bride,  lole,  daughter  of  King  Eurytus,  who  in 
his  youth  had  taught  him  the  use  of  the  bow.  This 
renowned  archer  offered  his  daughter's  hand  as  prize  to 
whoever  could  shoot  better  than  himself  and  his  three 
sons.  Hercules  came  to  the  trial  and  beat  his  old 
master.  But  when  he  claimed  lole,  Eurytus  was  un- 
willing to  let  her  marry  a  man  known  to  have  brought 
such  woe  on  Megara.  Among  the  king's  sons,  Iphitus 
alone  took  the  part  of  him  whom  he  loved  and  admired 
beyond  all  men ;  then,  his  bride  being  denied  him,  Her- 
cules went  away  in  wrath. 

Forthwith  it  chanced  that  certain  oxen  of  Eurytus 
were  stolen  by  the  noted  thief  Autolycus.  The  king 
made  sure  of  this  as  done  by  Hercules  in  revenge ;  but 
Iphitus  would  not  believe  such  villainy  of  his  friend.  He 
sought  out  Hercules,  and  they  joined  together  to  hunt 
down  the  true  robber.     On  their  chase  they  had  mounted 


114  HERCULES 

a  tower  to  look  out  for  the  stolen  herd,  when  the  hero's 
old  madness  returned  upon  him,  and  taking  Iphitus  as 
to  blame  for  the  ill  will  of  his  father,  he  hurled  him  from 
the  tower  in  sudden  fury. 

When  he  came  to  himself  and  found  that  he  had 
killed  his  best  friend,  Hercules  passed  into  melancholy 
remorse.  He  pilgrimaged  from  one  shrine  to  another, 
seeking  to  be  purified  from  that  sin.  The  oracle  at 
Delphi  at  first  refused  to  answer  so  blood-stained  a 
suppliant ;  whereupon  he  threatened  to  rob  the  temple, 
to  carry  off  the  tripod  and  to  set  up  an  oracle  of  his  own ; 
then  Zeus  had  some  ado  to  make  peace  between  his  fierce 
son  and  the  offended  Apollo.  In  the  end  Hercules 
wrung  from  this  god*s  priestess  a  sentence  that  his  guilt 
could  be  purged  away  only  by  selling  himself  as  a  slave 
for  three  years,  and  giving  the  price  to  the  children  of 
Iphitus. 

Willingly  the  hero  stooped  to  this  penance.  In 
charge  of  Hermes,  taking  ship  for  Asia,  where  he  was 
little  known,  he  let  himself  be  sold  for  three  talents  to 
Omphale,  Queen  of  Lydia.  She  soon  found  out  what 
a  strong  slave  she  had,  who  rid  her  land  of  robbers  and 
beasts  of  prey  as  easily  as  another  would  bear  wood  and 
water.  But  when  she  knew  that  this  was  no  other  than 
the  world-renowned  Hercules,  she  would  have  kept  him 
for  a  spouse  rather  than  a  servant.  Then,  alas !  in  the 
softness  and  luxury  of  eastern  life,  the  hero  forgot  his 
manhood,  and  let  Omphale  make  sport  with  him.  While 
she  took  his  club  and  lion-skin  as  toys,  he  put  on 
woman's  clothes  and  gauds  to  sit  at  her  feet  spinning 
wool,  or  amusing  her  and  her  maids  with  stories  of  how 
he  had  strangled  snakes  in  his  cradle,  and  laid  low  giants, 
and  quelled  monsters,  and  gone  down  to  face  the  king 
of  death  in  his  dark  abode. 


HIS   DEATH  115 

So  three  years  passed  away  in  shameful  ease ;  then 
at  once  Hercules  came  to  his  right  mind,  like  one 
awakening  from  a  dream.  He  tore  off  the  womanish 
garments  in  shame ;  he  dropped  the  distaff  from  his 
knotty  hands  ;  and,  turning  his  back  on  the  idle  court 
of  Omphale,  strode  forth  once  more  to  seek  deeds  that 
might  become  a  hero.  But  again  a  woman  was  fated  to 
be  this  strong  man's  undoing. 

In  his  later  wanderings  he  came  to  Calydon,  and  saw 
Deianira,  daughter  of  King  Oineus,  to  whom  he  bore  a 
message  from  her  brother  Meleager  in  Hades.  From 
him  Hercules  had  heard  of  her  beauty;  now  he  loved 
her  well  and  carried  her  away  as  his  wife,  after  a  hot 
fight  for  her  with  a  rival  wooer,  the  river-god  Achelous, 
who  changed  himself  into  a  snake  and  a  bull,  but  in  any 
form  could  not  withstand  the  son  of  Zeus. 

As  if  that  beaten  river-god  would  still  do  him  an  ill 
turn,  his  road  brought  him  to  a  stream  in  flood,  where 
the  Centaur  Nessus  stood  offering  to  carry  wayfarers 
across  on  his  back.  For  himself  Hercules  scorned  such 
a  ferry;  he  flung  over  his  club  and  lion-skin  on  the 
farther  bank,  that  he  might  lightly  swim  the  swollen 
water ;  but  his  wife  he  trusted  to  Nessus.  Then  that 
rude  Centaur,  inflamed  by  her  beauty,  would  have  borne 
her  off;  but  Hercules  heard  her  cry,  and  with  one  of 
his  envenomed  arrows  brought  Nessus  to  the  ground. 
In  his  death  throes,  the  vengeful  monster  whispered 
to  Deianira  a  lying  tale :  he  bid  her  dip  a  shirt  in  his 
blood,  and  if  ever  she  lost  her  husband's  love,  that 
should  prove  a  charm  to  bring  it  back. 

Hercules  ended  his  labours  by  taking  amends  from 
those  who  in  past  years  had  done  him  wrong,  among 
them  King  Eurytus,  whom  he  conquered  and  slew,  and 
made  his  daughter  lole  a  captive.     When  Deianira  heard 


ii6  HERCULES 

how  her  husband's  old  love  lay  in  his  power,  she  was 
moved  by  jealousy  to  try  the  spell  of  the  Centaur's 
blood,  which  in  truth  had  been  poisoned  by  the  hero's 
own  deadly  arrow.  She  sent  him  a  shirt  dipped  in  this 
venom,  begging  him  to  wear  it  as  made  by  her  hands. 
Without  suspicion  he  put  it  on,  when  he  came  to  offer 
sacrifices  of  thanksgiving  for  his  victory. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  fire  on  the  altar  had  warmed 
the  envenomed  blood,  burning  pains  seized  him  and  shot 
through  every  vein,  till,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  could 
not  but  roar  for  agony.  Vainly  he  struggled  to  pull  off 
the  fatal  garment;  it  stuck  to  his  skin  like  pitch,  and  he 
was  fain  to  tear  away  the  tortured  flesh,  beneath  which 
his  veins  hissed  and  boiled  as  if  melted  by  inward  flames. 
In  his  rage  he  caught  the  servant  who  had  innocently 
brought  this  gift  from  his  wife,  and  hurled  him  into  the 
sea.  Seeing  that  he  must  die,  with  his  last  strength  he 
tore  down  tree  trunks  to  m^ake  a  funeral  pyre,  on  which 
he  stretched  himself,  begging  his  companions  to  kindle 
it  beneath  his  still  living  body.  His  armour-bearer, 
Philoctetes,  alone  had  heart  to  do  him  this  sad  service, 
which  Hercules  rewarded  with  the  gift  of  his  deadly  bow 
and  arrows,  that  should  one  day  be  turned  against  Troy. 

"  Hera,  thou  art  avenged :  give  me  a  stepmother's 
gift  of  death ! "  were  his  last  words,  as  the  flames  rose 
crackling  about  him ;  and  a  terrible  storm  of  thunder 
and  lightning  broke  out  above,  through  which  Pallas- 
Athene's  chariot  bore  the  demigod  to  Olympus. 

On  the  pyre  lay  the  ashes  of  what  part  of  him  came 
from  his  mother.  The  immortal  part  he  had  from  Zeus 
now  dwelt  in  heaven.  There  even  Hera's  hatred  died 
away,  so  that  she  welcomed  him  among  the  gods,  and 
gave  him  in  marriage  her  daughter  Hebe,  the  spirit  of 
eternal  youth. 


HIS   DEATH  117 

When  poor  Deianira  knew  what  she  had  unwittingly 
done  to  her  too  dearly  loved  husband,  she  killed  horself 
for  remorse,  goaded  by  the  upbraiding  of  her  own  son 
Hyllus.  By  the  dying  wish  of  Hercules  this  son  married 
lole ;  and  from  them  sprang  a  famous  race  of  heroes, 
known  to  after-ages  as  the  Heraclids. 

But  the  children  of  Hercules  long  inherited  their 
father's  hard  fortunes.  They  were  chased  from  city  to 
city  by  the  hatred  of  Eurystheus,  so  that  they  must 
wander  over  Greece  under  the  guardianship  of  lolaus, 
now  grown  old  and  feeble,  yet  ever  faithful  to  the  me- 
mory of  his  dead  comrade  and  kinsman.  At  last  Demo- 
phoon,  son  of  Theseus,  gave  them  refuge  in  Athens,  and 
with  Hyllus  gathered  an  army  to  defend  them  against 
Eurystheus.  An  oracle  declaring  that  a  maiden  of  noble 
birth  must  be  sacrificed  as  the  price  of  victory,  Macaria, 
daughter  of  Hercules  and  Deianira,  did  not  fear  to 
devote  herself  to  death.  And  in  the  hot  battle  lolaus 
prayed  Zeus  to  give  him  back  for  one  day  the  strength 
of  his  youth ;  then,  his  prayer  being  heard,  no  foe  could 
stand  before  a  champion  worthy  to  follow  that  peerless 
hero.  The  host  of  Eurystheus  was  set  to  flight,  and  its 
lord  brought  to  a  miserable  end. 

Still  the  Heraclids  found  themselves  dogged  by  evil 
fate,  as  if  the  sins  of  their  great  father  rose  up  against 
them.  It  was  long  before  the  curse  of  the  race  seemed 
to  have  worn  out.  Not  till  generations  had  passed,  were 
warriors  of  the  blood  of  Hercules  able  to  conquer  the 
Peloponnesus  and  divide  its  kingdoms  among  their 
chiefs. 


ALCESTIS 

Time  was  when  great  Apollo  had  so  grievously 
ofFended  his  father  Zeus  that  as  punishment  he  must 
for  nine  years  serve  a  mortal  upon  earth.  Thus  the  god 
became  herdsman  to  the  Thessalian  king  Admetus,  who 
made  such  a  good  master  to  him  that,  his  term  of  service 
up,  as  parting  gift  Apollo  won  for  Admetus  from  the 
Fates  a  boon  never  yet  granted  to  man.  When  his  day 
came  to  die,  this  king  might  live  on  if  he  could  find  any 
soul  who  loved  him  so  well  as  to  go  down  to  Hades  in 
his  stead. 

The  day  dawned  when  Death's  messenger  brought 
to  the  house  of  Admetus  that  word  that  strikes  dumb 
king  as  well  as  beggar.  Then  eagerly  he  sought  one 
willing  to  take  his  place.  None  of  his  friends  would  go 
down  into  darkness  for  his  sake.  His  people  had  no 
more  to  give  him  than  due  pity  and  lamentation.  His 
old  father  and  mother  clung  fast  to  the  few  dim  years 
they  might  yet  have  to  live.  Only  his  wife  Aleestis,  in 
the  bloom  of  her  beauty,  joyful  mother  of  children  as 
she  was,  declared  herself  ready  to  sacrifice  her  life  for 
his ;  and  so  it  was  to  be. 

As  the  black  shape  of  Death  drew  near  the  doors  to 
lead  her  away,  the  noble  queen  washed  herself  in  running 
water,  put  on  her  festal  attire  and  choicest  ornaments  to 
come  forth  for  the  last  time  into  the  light  of  day.  With 
heartbroken  woe  she  embraced  once  more  her  tearful 
children  ;  of  her  servants  too  she  took  kind  farewell ; 
and  these  were  her  last  words  to  Admetus ; — 

U8 


ALCESTIS  119 

"  Since  thy  life  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own,  I  die 
willingly,  not  caring  to  take  another  husband,  nor  to 
abide  with  thy  orphaned  children,  as  well  loved  by  thee 
as  by  me.  One  thing  only  I  ask :  give  them  up  to  the 
grudge  of  no  second  wife,  for  a  serpent  may  be  kinder 
than  a  stepmother." 

The  weeping  king  vowed  that  in  death  as  in  life 
Alcestis  should  be  his  only  bride  ;  and  with  this  promise 
of  comfort  she  fell  into  a  mortal  swoon. 

While  all  the  house  was  now  busy  with  preparing 
her  funeral  rites,  there  arrived  at  it  an  ill-timed  guest, 
who  but  Hercules  bound  on  one  of  his  mighty  errands ! 
Struck  by  the  signs  of  mourning  that  met  his  eyes,  he 
would  have  turned  away;  but  Admetus,  true  to  the 
duty  of  being  hospitable,  dissembled  his  grief,  giving 
Hercules  to  think  that  the  dead  woman  was  only 
a  visitor.  Led  into  the  guest  chamber,  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  well  supplied  with  wine,  the  hero  carelessly 
fell  to  boisterous  drinking  and  singing,  till  an  old  servant 
rebuked  him  for  such  unseemly  riot  in  a  house  whose 
mistress  had  just  been  carried  out  to  burial.  Struck 
sober  by  contrition,  and  by  the  generosity  of  his  host, 
Hercules  asked  which  way  Death  had  gone,  then  hurried 
after,  bent  on  wresting  from  him  his  victim ;  and  the 
house  of  Admetus  was  left  hushed  in  its  woe. 

"  Night  wore  away- 
Mid  gusts  of  wailing  wind,  the  twilight  grey 
Stole  o'er  the  sea,  and  wrought  his  wondrous  change 
On  things  unseen  by  night,  by  day  not  strange, 
But  now  half  seen  and  strange ;  then  came  the  sun. 
And  therewithal  the  silent  world  and  dun 
Waking,  waxed  many-coloured,  full  of  sound, 
As  men  again  their  heap  of  troubles  found, 
And  woke  up  to  their  joy  or  misery." 

— W,  Morris, 


I20  ALCESTIS 

Admetus  was  sitting  alone  at  daybreak  in  his  silent 
home,  overwhelmed  by  sorrow,  also  by  shame  that  his 
wife  had  shown  him  the  courage  to  die.  Now  again 
Hercules  entered  his  gates,  this  time  leading  a  veiled 
woman  at  his  side. 

"Oh,  king!"  he  greeted  Admetus,  "it  was  ill  done 
of  thee  to  hide  from  me  that  thy  wife  lay  dead ;  and  I 
did  thee  wrong  by  revelling  in  a  home  darkened  by 
such  a  loss.  Here,  to  make  amends,  I  bring  a  wom^n 
whom  I  won  in  a  hard  contest.  Take  her  for  thine 
own;   or  at  least  keep  her  for  me  till  I  come  again.'* 

"  Lead  her  to  some  other  friend ! "  cried  Admetus, 
waving  her  away;  and  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  veiled 
figure,  he  broke  out :  "  I  could  not  bear  to  see  in  my 
house  one  whose  form  so  strongly  recalls  my  own  wife, 
that  the  very  sight  of  her  sets  me  weeping  afresh." 

"  Nay,  dry  these  tears,"  quoth  the  jovial  hero. 
"  Mourning  brings  not  back  the  dead ;  but  for  the  living 
there  are  still  gifts  of  joy.  Take,  then,  this  woman  to 
wife,  and  forget  what  has  gone  before." 

"Never  can  I  love  any  woman  save  Alcestis!"  vowed 
the  king ;  but  his  voice  rose  in  a  cry  of  joyful  amaze- 
ment, as  Hercules  drew  off  the  veil  to  show  him  the 
living  face  of  her  he  loved  so  well. 

Alcestis  it  was  and  no  other,  whom  for  once  a  half- 
divine  hero  had  been  able  to  tear  out  of  the  arms  of 
Death.  Three  days  she  lay  breathing  yet  speechless, 
as  if  dazed  by  the  dread  of  what  she  had  seen  through 
the  gate  of  Hades.  Then  she  rose  and  spoke,  and 
went  about  the  house  which  her  life  filled  again  with 
gladness. 


PYGMALION   AND    GALATEA 

-Pygmalion,  king  of  Cyprus,  had  more  fame  as  a 
sculptor  than  as  a  warrior.  So  devoted  was  he  to  his 
art  that  he  cared  not  to  marry,  declaring  that  no  living 
woman  could  be  so  beautiful  as  the  figures  he  fashioned 
with  his  own  hands.  And  at  one  ivory  statue  he  wrought 
so  long  and  so  lovingly  that  it  became  the  mistress  of 
his  heart,  till  he  would  have  spent  all  he  had  in  the 
world  to  give  it  breath  as  well  as  silent  grace  and  beauty. 
All  day  he  laboured  to  put  new  touches  of  perfection 
to  the  senseless  form ;  and  all  night  he  lay  sighing  for 
the  power  to  make  it  flesh  and  blood. 

Galatea  was  the  name  he  gave  his  statue,  in  vain 
hoping  to  call  it  to  life.  In  vain  he  sought  to  kiss 
warmth  and  motion  into  its  shapely  limbs.  He  decked 
it  with  costly  tissues,  made  its  neck  and  arms  sparkle 
with  precious  jewels,  wreathed  its  cold  head  with  flowers 
of  every  hue ;  but  all  in  vain.  The  image  remained 
an  image,  that  seemed  less  fair  the  more  he  hid  its 
white  form  in  gold  and  purple. 

There  came  the  feast  of  Aphrodite,  great  goddess 
of  the  island.  Then  Pygmalion  presented  himself  in 
her  temple,  bearing  rich  off^erings  and  sending  up  a 
passionate  prayer  with  the  incense  smoke  that  rose  from 
the  altar. 

"  Queen  of  love,  take  pity  on  one  who  has  too  long 
despised  thy  power  1      Give  me  for  bride   the  work  of 

(C288)  121  6 


122  PYGMALION  AND   GALATEA 

my  own  hands;  or,  if  that  may  not  be,  a  maiden  of 
earth  as  lovely  as  my  Galatea!" 

As  if  in  favourable  answer,  three  times  the  altar 
flame  leaped  up  in  the  air,  making  Pygmalion's  heart 
beat  high  with  joyful  hope.  He  hastened  home  to 
stand  before  the  statue  that  a  hundred  times  had  almost 
cheated  his  eyes  into  belief  it  might  be  alive. 

"  Galatea  ! "  he  cried  for  the  thousandth  time,  stretch- 
ing out  his  arms ;  then  had  almost  shrunk  back  in  dread 
of  what  he  so  long  desired. 

For  now  as  he  gazed,  a  change  came  over  the  ivory 
shape.  Its  breast  heaved ;  its  veins  ran  with  blood ; 
its  eyes  no  longer  stared  upon  him  like  stones.  It  was 
no  cheat.  He  pressed  the  hand  that  grew  warm  and 
soft  in  his.  He  could  feel  the  pulses  throbbing  under 
his  touch.  He  smiled  to  the  face  that  smiled  back 
again.  He  spoke,  and  his  Galatea's  lips  had  breath 
to  answer — 

"  Aphrodite  hath  worked  her  miracle  ! " 

"  Speechless  he  stood,  but  she  now  drew  anear, 
Simple  and  sweet  as  she  was  wont  to  be. 
And  once  again  her  silver  voice  rang  clear, 
Filling  his  soul  with  great  felicity; 
And  thus  she  spoke,  *  Wilt  thou  not  come  to  me, 
O  dear  companion  of  my  new-found  life, 
For  I  am  called  thy  lover  and  thy  wife '." 

— /^.  Morris. 


THE    RAPE    OF    PERSEPHONE 

An  ill  trick  it  was  Aphrodite  played  on  gods  and 
men  when  she  bid  her  mischievous  son  shoot  his  dart 
at  Pluto,  that  even  in  his  gloomy  kingdom  should  be 
known  the  power  of  love.  From  such  a  mountain- 
mouth  as  breathes  fire  and  smoke  over  Sicily  came  forth 
the  stern  King  of  Hades,  to  drive  in  his  iron  chariot 
across  that  fair  isle,  where  the  ground  heaves  beneath 
fruitful  crops,  and  ruin  is  strangely  mingled  with  the 
richest  green. 

There,  in  the  Vale  of  Enna,  his  lowering  looks  fell 
upon  Persephone,  sweet  daughter  of  Demeter,  blooming 
like  the  flowers  she  plucked  among  her  sportive  com- 
panions. But  she  dropped  her  lapful  of  violets  and 
lilies  when  that  fearsome  wooer  caught  her  up  into  his 
chariot,  striking  his  forked  spear  upon  the  ground,  that 
opened  in  a  dark  cleft  through  which  he  bore  her  away 
to  his  dwelling  in  the  nether  world.  A  cry  for  help, 
too  late,  brought  up  Demeter  to  see  that  her  beloved 
daughter  had  vanished  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"  Persephone  !  Persephone  ! "  she  cried  in  vain.  No 
answer  came  but  the  rumble  of  the  earthquake  and  the 
stifled  roar  of  the  volcano  hailing  that  tyrant's  retreat 
to  his  kingdom  underground. 

All  day  the  woeful  mother  sought  her  lost  child, 
and  all  night  she  went  calling  Persephone's  name,  lit 
by  torches  kindled  at  the  fires  of  Etna.  Many  a  day, 
indeed,  she  now  wandered  over  land  and  sea,  but  neither 
sun  nor  moon  could  show  her  the  darling  face,  never 

123 


124  THE   RAPE   OF  PERSEPHONE 

forgotten  in  her  heart.  At  last,  coming  back  to  Sicily, 
she  found  a  trace  of  Persephone,  what  but  her  girdle 
floating  on  a  stream  into  which  one  of  the  girFs  play- 
mates had  wept  herself  away,  and  could  give  only  such 
silent  token  of  her  friend's  fate ! 

But  the  nymph  of  another  stream  had  power  to 
speak,  fair  Arethusa,  who,  pursued  by  the  river -god 
Alpheus  under  the  sea,  had  fled  to  Ortygia,  and  there 
was  changed  by  Artemis  into  a  sacred  fountain.  She 
in  pity  told  Demeter  how,  when  drawing  her  springs 
from  the  deep  caverns  underground,  she  had  seen  young 
Persephone  throned  by  Pluto's  side  as  the  queen  of 
Hades,  adorned  with  gems  and  gold  in  place  of  flowers, 
and  had  through  that  chill  darkness  heard  her  sighing 
for  the  sunlit  vale  whence  death's  king  so  roughly 
snatched  her  away.  What  power  could  bring  her  back 
from  his  cold  embrace  ? 

In  wild  despair  Demeter  cursed  the  earth,  and  chiefly 
the  soil  of  Sicily  that  had  swallowed  up  her  child.  Her 
tears  fell  as  a  plague  upon  field  and  grove,  so  that  they 
no  more  yielded  fruit  for  man  or  beast.  The  people 
wasted  away  in  famine,  crying  upon  the  gods,  who 
feared  to  lose  the  reverence  and  sacrifices  due  to  them. 
Zeus  himself  pled  with  Demeter  in  vain :  she  would 
not  return  to  her  seat  on  Olympus,  but  went  madly  up 
and  down  the  world,  scathing  and  blighting  where  she 
was  wont  to  bless. 

"  If  a  mother's  tears  touch  thee  not,  be  mindful  of 
a  father's  pride ! "  was  ever  her  prayer  to  Zeus.  "  She 
is  thy  daughter  as  well  as  mine,  doomed  to  so  untimely 
fate ;  and  thy  honour  as  well  as  my  woe  calls  for  redress 
against  the  insolent  robber  of  our  child." 

At  last  the  father  of  the  gods  was  fain  to  appease 
this    ceaseless    suppliant.       He    sent    Hermes    to   fetch 


THE    RETURN    OF    PERSEPHONE 

From  the  painting  by  Lord  Leighton^  P.R.A.,  in  the  Leeds  Art  Gallery 


THE   RAPE   OF   PERSEPHONE  125 

Persephone  from  the  nether  world  and  restore  her  to  her 
mother's  arms ;  yet  so  it  might  be  only  if  she  had  eaten 
nothing  in  the  kingdom  of  Pluto.  Alas !  that  very  day 
she  had  been  tempted  to  taste  the  seeds  of  a  pome- 
granate ;  and  thus  was  she  still  held  in  the  power  of 
her  grudging  spouse. 

Once  more  the  miserable  mother  filled  heaven  with 
her  entreaties,  and  earth  with  her  wrath.  Again  Zeus 
gave  a  decree  that  should  content  both  his  brother  and 
the  goddess  of  fruitfulness.  Persephone's  life  must 
henceforth  be  divided  between  her  mother  and  her  hus- 
band, and  with  each  of  them  she  should  spend  half  the 
year :  no  otherwise  might  it  be  than  life  and  death  for 
her  in  turns. 

Joyful  was  Demeter  to  clasp  her  fair  daughter, 
brought  back  from  the  gloomy  realm  of  Pluto ;  and 
glad  was  the  earth  of  her  joy.  For  now  again  the  land 
grew  green  like  a  jewel  set  in  its  rim  of  blue  sea;  the 
withered  trees  budded  and  blossomed ;  the  naked  moun- 
tains were  clothed  with  leaves ;  sweet  flowers  sprang  up 
In  valleys  for  children  to  gather  freshly ;  the  fields  and 
gardens  bore  goodly  food  for  man,  and  all  the  world 
smiled  back  to  the  bright  sky  of  summer. 

But,  in  turn,  came  year  by  year  their  darkening 
days,  when  the  goddess  gave  up  her  daughter  to  that 
tyrant  of  the  shades.  Then  all  the  earth  must  mourn 
with  Demeter,  laying  aside  the  gay  garlands  of  summer 
and  the  rich  robes  of  autumn  for  wan  weeds  that  ill  kept 
out  the  winter  cold,  till  again  the  welcome  heralds  of 
spring  let  men  hail  Persephone  returning  to  her  mother's 
arms.  And  so  it  goes  with  the  world,  while  men  still 
live  and  die. 

Other  wondrous  tales  men  tell  of  what  befell  Demeter 
in  those  weary  wanderings,  to  and  fro,  when  long  she 


126         THE   RAPE   OF  PERSEPHONE 

sought  her  vanished  child  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  As 
this :  that  coming  one  day  to  a  cottage,  disguised  as  an 
old  beggar  woman,  she  was  scornfully  given  a  bowl  of 
mush  at  the  door,  where  the  son  of  the  house,  like  the 
rude  boy  he  was,  laughed  to  see  how  hungrily  she  ate 
such  humble  food ;  then  the  seeming  crone  flung  the 
bowl  in  his  face  with  an  angry  word,  at  which,  lo !  he 
had  been  changed  into  a  spotted  lizard,  to  teach  him  and 
his  that  poverty  may  hide  a  goddess. 

But  another  home  gave  less  churlish  welcome  to  this 
beggar,  old  and  poor.  At  Eleusis,  in  Greece,  it  was  that 
a  kindly  housewife  took  her  in,  and  would  have  had  her 
stay  as  nurse  to  the  new-born  son,  named  Triptolemus. 
Bereaved  Demeter  came  to  love  this  child  almost  as  her 
own,  so  that  she  was  minded  to  bestow  on  him  in  secret 
the  gift  of  immortality.  His  own  mother,  waking  up 
one  night,  stood  amazed  to  find  that  nurse  holding  her 
babe  in  the  flames  of  the  fire ;  then  with  screams  of  terror 
she  snatched  him  away,  knowing  not  how  his  limbs  had 
been  bathed  in  nectar,  and  a  charm  breathed  over  him  so 
that  the  fire  should  but  temper  his  life  to  deathlessness. 
Now  the  stranger  shone  forth  by  the  hearth  as  a  goddess, 
to  tell  what  purpose  it  was  had  thus  been  brought  to 
nought ;  and  forthwith  she  passed  away  upon  her  long 
quest. 

But  when  her  mind  was  set  at  ease  by  the  return  of 
Persephone,  Demeter  sought  out  that  nursling  at  Eleusis 
to  show  through  him  new  favour  to  mortals.  In  her 
dragon-chariot  she  sent  Triptolemus  out  with  the  gift  of 
corn  for  men,  and  to  teach  them  the  use  of  the  plough 
and  the  sickle,  so  that  no  more  should  they  be  in  danger 
of  famine.  And  in  his  native  land  she  set  on  foot  the 
sacred  Eleusinian  festival,  by  which  for  ages  to  come  its 
people  should  remember  Demeter  and  Persephone. 


ORPHEUS    AND    EURYDICE 

Orpheus  the  Thracian  was  famed  as  sweetest  minstre! 
of  old.  Son  of  the  muse  Calliope,  he  was  born  under 
Mount  Rhodope,  yet  often  wandered  about  Olympus, 
home  of  the  gods,  enchanting  also  with  his  song  the 
wooded  slopes  on  Parnassus  and  the  sacred  spring  of 
Helicon.  The  tale  goes  how  when,  with  the  skill  taught 
by  his  mother-muse,  he  struck  the  golden  lyre  given  him 
by  Apollo,  fierce  beasts  of  the  forest  would  come  forth 
charmed  to  tameness ;  the  rushing  streams  stood  still  to 
listen ;  and  the  very  rocks  and  trees  were  drawn  after 
that  witching  music,  that  softened  the  hearts  of  savage 
men. 

The  singer  who  could  breathe  life  into  a  stone,  readily 
won  the  heart  of  fair  Eurydice,  not  the  less  since  he  had 
shown  himself  brave  as  well  as  gifted  when  he  followed 
Jason  on  the  quest  of  the  Golden  Fleece.  But  all  too 
short  was  the  happiness  of  that  loving  pair.  As  she 
danced  at  their  bridal  feast,  a  venomous  snake,  gliding 
through  the  grass,  stung  the  heel  of  Eurydice,  her  only 
among  the  merry  guests,  so  that  she  died  on  the  night 
she  was  wedded. 

The  lamenting  husband  bore  her  to  the  grave,  playing 
mournful  airs  that  moved  the  hearts  of  all  who  followed 
that  funeral  train.  Then,  life  seeming  to  him  dark  as 
death  without  his  Eurydice,  Orpheus  pressed  on  to  the 
very  gates  of  Hades,  seeking  her  where  no  living  man 
might  enter  till  the  day  of  his  own  doom. 

127 


128  ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE 

But  at  this  man's  tuneful  strains,  Charon  silently 
ferried  him  across  the  Styx,  that  black  stream  that  divides 
our  sunlit  world  from  the  cold  realms  of  Pluto.  So 
moving  were  the  notes  of  his  lyre  that  the  iron  bars  slid 
back  of  themselves,  and  Cerberus,  the  three-headed  guard 
of  death's  gloomy  portal,  sank  down  without  showmg 
his  teeth,  to  let  the  lulling  music  pass.  Without  check 
oi  challenge  Orpheus  stole  boldly  into  the  world  of  the 
shades,  flitting  about  him  from  all  sides  to  fix  their  dim 
eyes  on  the  man  who  could  work  such  a  spell  even  among 
the  dead. 

Fearsome  and  gruesome  were  the  sights  he  saw  in 
the  dark  caves  of  Tartarus,  yet  through  them  he  held  on 
undismayed,  straining  his  eyes  after  Eurydice  alone.  He 
came  past  the  daughters  of  Danaus,  who,  all  save  one, 
had  stabbed  their  husbands  on  the  wedding  night,  and 
for  such  a  crime  must  do  eternal  penance  by  vainly  pour- 
ing water  into  a  sieve;  but,  as  the  Thracian  singer  went 
by,  they  had  a  brief  respite  from  their  bootless  task, 
turning  on  him  looks  which  he  gave  not  back.  So,  too, 
his  music  made  a  moment's  peace  for  Tantalus,  that  once 
rich  and  mighty  king,  that  for  unspeakable  offence  against 
the  gods  was  doomed  to  suffer  burning  thirst  in  a  lake 
whose  waters  ever  fled  from  his  lips,  and  in  his  hungry 
eyes  bloomed  clusters  of  ripe  fruit  shrinking  and  wither- 
ing as  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  clutch  them ;  and 
over  his  head  hung  a  huge  stone  threatening  in  vain  to 
crush  him  out  of  his  misery.  Again,  Orpheus  passed 
where  Sisyphus,  for  his  life's  burden  of  wickedness,  had 
to  roll  uphill  a  heavy  rock  always  slipping  from  his  arms 
to  spin  down  to  the  bottom  :  he,  too,  could  pause  to 
wipe  his  hot  brow  as  the  singer's  voice  fell  on  his  ears 
like  balm.  Nor  did  the  spell  of  music  fail  to  stop  Ixion's 
wheel,  bound  to  which  that  treacherous  murderer  must 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE  129 

for  ever  whirl  through  the  fiery  air  in  unpitied  torment. 
Then  for  once,  they  say,  were  tears  drawn  to  the  dry 
eyes  of  the  Furies,  those  three  chastising  sisters,  whose 
very  name  men  fear  to  speak. 

"  Heavenly  o'er  the  startled  Hell, 
Holy,  where  the  Accursed  dwell, 
O  Thracian,  went  thy  silver  song! 
Grim  Minos  with  unconscious  tears, 
Melts  into  mercy  as  he  hears — 
The  serpents  in  Megaera's  hair 
Kiss,  as  they  wreathe  enamoured  there; 
All  harmless  rests  the  madding  throng; — 
From  the  torn  breast  the  Vulture  mute 
Flies,  scared  before  the  charmed  lute — 
Lulled  into  sighing  from  their  roar 
The  dark  waves  woo  the  listening  shore — 
Listening  the  Thracian's  silver  song! — 
Love  was  the  Thracian's  silver  song!" 

—Schiller. 

But  Orpheus  looked  not  aside,  and  the  thin  ghosts 
ever  made  way  for  him  as  he  pressed  on  till  he  came 
before  the  throne  where  the  dark-browed  King  of  Hades 
sat  beside  his  queen  Persephone,  her  fair  face  veiled  by 
the  shadows  of  that  dire  abode.  Then,  striking  his 
softest  notes,  the  suppliant  minstrel  raised  a  chant  to  stir 
the  hardest  heart,  beseeching  its  sovereign  for  once  to 
loose  the  bonds  of  death. 

"  Love ",  he  sang,  "  gives  me  strength  to  seek  the 
shades  before  my  time ;  love,  that  if  tales  be  true,  has 
had  power  even  here,  when  stern  Pluto  came  forth  to 
win  a  bride  snatched  from  the  world  of  life.  Let  me 
take  back  my  loved  one,  doomed  too  soon  by  fate !  Or, 
if  that  may  not  be,  oh!  dread  king,  in  mercy  accept  two 
victims  for  one,  nor  bid  me  return  alone  to  the  upper 
air." 

Black-browed  Pluto  nodded  to  his  prayer,  when  Per- 

(C288)  6a 


I30  ORPHEUS  AND   EURYDICE 

sephone  whispered  a  pitiful  word  in  her  consort's  ear. 
Then  the  lyre  of  Orpheus  was  silenced  by  a  hollow  voice 
proclaiming  through  the  vaulted  halls  a  boon  for  once 
granted  to  mortal  man.  All  Hades  held  its  breath  to 
hear. 

"  So  be  it  I  Back  to  the  world  above,  and  Eurydice 
shall  follow  thee  as  thy  shadow !  But  halt  not,  speak 
not,  turn  not  to  look  behind,  till  ye  have  gained  the 
upper  air,  or  never  mayst  thou  see  her  face  again. 
Begone  without  delay,  and  on  thy  silent  path  thou  wilt 
not  be  alone." 

In  grateful  awe,  the  husband  of  Eurydice  turned  his 
back  upon  death's  throne,  taking  his  way  through  the 
chill  gloom  towards  a  faint  glimmer  that  marked  the  gate 
of  Hades.  Fain  would  he  have  looked  round  to  make 
sure  that  Eurydice  came  behind  him,  fain  would  he  have 
halted  to  listen  for  her  footfall.  But  now  all  was  still  as 
death,  save  his  own  hasty  steps  echoing  dreadfully  as  he 
pressed  on  to  the  light  that  shone  clearer  and  clearer 
before  him  like  a  star  of  hope.  Then  doubt  and  im- 
patience clouded  his  mind,  so  that  he  could  not  trust  the 
word  of  a  god.  He  had  not  yet  gained  the  gate,  when, 
giving  way  to  eager  desire,  he  turned  his  head  and  saw 
indeed  behind  him  the  shrouded  form  of  her  he  loved  so 
fondly. 

"  Eurydice ! "  he  cried,  stretching  out  his  arms,  but 
they  clasped  the  cold  thin  air ;  and  only  a  sigh  came  back 
to  him,  as  her  dim  shape  melted  away  into  the  darkness. 

In  vain  the  twice -bereaved  lover  made  Hades  ring 
with  Eurydice*s  name.  He  was  never  to  see  her  more 
while  he  lived.  Out  of  his  senses  for  despair,  he  found 
himself  thrust  into  the  daylight,  alone.  There  he  lay 
like  an  image,  for  days  unable  to  speak,  or  to  sing,  with 
no  desire  but  to  starve  himself  back  to  death. 


ORPHEUS   AND   EURYDICE  131 

At  last  he  rose  and  took  his  way  into  the  world  of 
men.  Now  he  went  silent,  the  strings  of  his  lyre  broken 
like  his  heart.  He  shunned  all  dwellings  and  scenes  of 
joy,  nor  would  he  look  upon  the  face  of  women,  though 
many  a  maid  smiled  kindly  to  bid  him  forget  his  lost 
Eurydice.  Henceforth,  his  solitary  haunts  were  the 
mountain  forests  of  Thrace,  where  beasts  rather  than 
men  would  be  his  companions  among  the  rough  thickets. 

But  ere  long,  as  he  would  have  retuned  his  lyre  to 
strains  of  woe,  the  rocks  rang  with  a  clamorous  din,  and 
forth  upon  him  burst  a  troop  of  Maenads,  women  frenzied 
by  the  rites  of  Dionysus,  to  whom,  with  jangling  cymbals 
and  clanging  horns,  they  yelled  a  shrill  chorus  Evoe^ 
Evoe!  Clothed  in  fawnskins,  and  garlanded  with  vine 
leaves,  they  danced  towards  the  stranger ;  but  he  rose 
in  horror  to  fly  from  their  flushed  faces,  nor  heeded  the 
wild  outcry  with  which  they  called  on  him  to  join  their 
revel.  Furious  at  this  affront,  the  maddened  votaries 
of  Bacchus  followed  him  like  fierce  hunters  closing  on 
a  deer.  They  stoned  him  to  the  ground,  they  broke  his 
lyre  in  pieces,  and,  their  drunken  rage  heated  by  the 
sight  of  blood,  that  ruthless  crew  ended  by  tearing  their 
disdainer  in  pieces.  His  limbs  were  flung  into  a  stream 
which  bore  them  to  the  sea ;  and  they  tell  how  his  head, 
still  breathing  Eurydice's  name,  was  washed  ashore  on  the 
isle  of  Lesbos,  there  to  be  buried  by  the  Muses  in  a  tomb 
that  became  a  sacred  shrine,  on  which  the  nightingales 
sang  more  sweetly  than  elsewhere. 


MIDAS 

Midas,  king  of  Phrygia,  was  rich  above  all  men  in 
the  world,  yet,  like  others  who  have  much,  his  heart  was 
set  on  more.  Once  he  had  the  chance  to  do  a  service 
to  a  god,  when  in  his  garden  was  found  old  Silenus, 
who,  strayed  from  the  train  of  his  patron  Dionysus,  had 
lain  down  here  to  sleep  off  a  drunken  bout.  Midas 
sportively  bound  the  wandering  reveller  with  roses,  and, 
after  filling  him  with  the  meat  and  drink  he  loved,  took 
him  back  to  the  god  of  wine ;  then  so  well  pleased  was 
Dionysus  to  see  that  jovial  companion,  that  he  bid  the 
friendly  king  choose  any  reward  he  liked  to  ask.  Midas 
did  not  think  twice. 

"Grant  me  this  boon  then,'*  he  cried  eagerly:  "that 
whatever  I  touch  may  turn  to  gold ! " 

"  So  be  it ! "  laughed  the  god,  pledging  him  in  a  cup 
of  wine ;  and  Midas  left  his  presence  exulting  to  know 
that  henceforth  his  wealth  was  boundless. 

Impatient  to  test  his  new-given  power,  as  he  walked 
through  the  woods  he  tore  off  a  twig,  and  lo !  at  his  touch 
it  had  turned  to  yellow  gold.  He  picked  up  stones 
from  the  path,  then  they,  too,  became  pure  gold,  and 
every  clod  he  handled  was  at  once  a  glittering  nugget ; 
he  grasped  an  ear  of  corn  to  find  it  hard  as  gold ;  and 
when  he  plucked  fruit  or  flowers  they  were  like  the 
apples  of  the  Hesperides,  so  that  soon  his  attendants 
went  groaning  under  the  burden  of  gold  he  gathered 
on  the  way.      Weighed  down  by  his  golden  robes,  he 

132 


MIDAS  133 

himself  would  fain  have  been  borne  along,  but  when 
he  mounted  a  mule  it  stood  a  lifeless  image,  and  the 
litter  on  which  they  laid  him  was  too  heavy  for  the 
strength  of  all  his  men.  Almost  beside  himself  with 
pride  and  greed,  he  got  home  to  his  palace,  where,  as  he 
brushed  through  the  portal,  its  posts  turned  to  golden 
pillars ;  and  when  he  threw  himself  on  the  nearest  seat, 
it  was  henceforth  such  a  costly  throne  as  any  king  in 
the  world  might  envy. 

Fatigued  by  his  journey  and  its  excitements,  Midas 
called  for  food.  Obedient  menials  made  haste  to  spread 
a  table,  while  others  brought  basins  in  which  as  their  lord 
plunged  his  hands,  the  water  froze  forthwith  into  golden 
ice.  So  it  was  when  he  sat  down  to  eat.  He  smiled 
to  see  how  his  plates  and  bowls  changed  to  gold,  as 
beseemed ;  but  his  smile  became  a  frown  when  the  first 
savoury  mouthful  met  his  lips  as  tasteless  metal.  In 
vain  he  tried  to  swallow  such  rich  fare ;  the  sweetest 
morsel  crunched  between  his  teeth  like  ashes ;  and  when 
he  would  have  drained  a  cup  of  wine,  the  drink  was  solid 
gold. 

Tormented  by  hunger  and  thirst,  he  rose  from  that 
mockery  of  a  banquet,  for  once  envying  the  poorest 
kitchen -boy  in  his  palace.  It  was  no  comfort  to  visit 
the  growing  mass  of  his  treasures ;  the  very  sight  of  gold 
began  to  sicken  him.  If  he  embraced  his  children,  if  he 
struck  a  slave,  their  bodies  turned  in  an  instant  to  golden 
statues.  All  around  glared  hateful  yellow  in  his  eyes. 
It  was  a  relief  when  darkness  came  to  hide  that  now- 
abhorred  wealth.  Then,  flinging  off  his  heavy  golden 
robes,  he  sank  with  a  sigh  upon  a  soft  couch  that  at 
once  grew  hard  and  cold ;  and  there  he  tossed  restless 
all  night,  the  richest  and  the  most  wretched  man  alive. 

In  sleepless  despair,  with  the  first  light  of  dawn  he 


134  MIDAS 

hastened  to  Dionysus,  earnestly  beseeching  him  to  take 
back  his  gift  of  splendid  misery. 

**  So  men's  dearest  wishes  oft  prove  unwise ! "  railed 
the  god.  "  But  once  more  I  grant  thee  thy  desire.  Seek 
out  the  source  of  the  Pactolus,  and  by  bathing  in  its 
pure  waters  thou  mayst  undo  the  spell  laid  upon  thee." 

Scarcely  waiting  to  thank  him,  Midas  set  off  for  that 
healing  stream.  Driven  on  by  the  gnawings  of  hunger, 
over  mountain  and  plain  he  panted  till  he  came  to  the 
Pactolus,  whose  sandy  bed  was  streaked  with  gold  wher- 
ever he  trod ;  and  men  say  that  scales  of  gold  may  still 
be  turned  up  to  mark  his  footsteps.  When  he  reached 
its  cool  fountain  and  hurled  into  it  his  fevered  body,  the 
crystal  water  was  stained  as  if  by  gold.  But  no  sooner 
had  his  head  plunged  beneath  it,  than  that  fatal  gift  was 
washed  away ;  and  to  his  unspeakable  joy  Midas  came 
out  able  to  eat  and  drink  like  other  men. 

This  king  was  not  always  so  fortunate  in  his  dealings 
with  the  gods.  Cured  of  his  greed  for  gold,  yet  no 
wiser  in  his  mind,  he  took  to  roaming  the  green  woods, 
and  there  came  upon  Pan  at  strife  with  the  great  Apollo. 
For  that  rude  Satyr  had  presumed  to  boast  his  pipe  of 
reeds  against  the  god's  lute ;  and  they  took  Midas  for 
judge  which  of  them  made  the  sweetest  music.  After 
listening  to  their  strains,  the  dull-eared  mortal  gave  judg- 
ment for  Pan ;  then  Apollo,  in  displeasure,  punished  him 
by  decking  his  head  with  the  ears  of  an  ass,  even  as  the 
Muses  spitefully  turned  the  daughters  of  Pierus  into 
birds,  when  these  mortal  maidens  would  have  contended 
with  them  in  song  on  Mount  Helicon. 

The  first  pool  into  which  Midas  looked  showed  him 
how  shamefully  he  had  been  transformed ;  but  this  time 
he  could  hope  no  favour  from  an  angry  god.  Slinking 
into  his  palace  by  night,  the  king  would  have  hid  from  all 


MIDAS  135 

that  he  bore  those  long,  hairy  ears.  His  head  he  kept 
wrapped  night  and  day  in  a  turban  such  as  makes  a  shield 
against  the  sun  for  men  of  the  hot  East.  None  knew 
why  Midas  went  thus  arrayed,  save  only  his  barber,  to 
whom  he  could  not  but  disclose  the  truth,  binding  him 
by  oaths  and  threats  never  to  breathe  it  to  human  ear. 

But  the  barber,  for  his  part,  could  not  bear  the  weight 
of  such  a  secret  which  he  must  not  tell.  Itching  to  let 
it  out,  yet  fearing  his  master's  wrath,  he  stole  down  to 
the  lonely  bank  of  the  river  and  scooped  out  a  hole,  into 
which  he  whispered  "  Midas  has  ass's  ears ",  hoping  to 
be  heard  by  no  man.  But  where  he  had  opened  the 
ground,  there  grew  up  a  clump  of  reeds  that,  as  often  as 
they  were  stirred  by  the  wind,  kept  on  murmuring, 
^^ Midas  has  asss  ears'\ 


SCYLLA 

Of  Megara,  Euclid's  birthplace,  It  Is  told  how  in  old 
days  It  was  besieged  by  Minos  of  Crete.  Long  the 
siege  lasted,  for  the  Fates  had  decreed  that  the  city 
should  not  be  taken  while  It  contained  a  talisman,  which 
was  no  other  than  a  lock  of  purple  hair  growing  on  the 
head  of  Nisus,  its  king;  and  that  secret  he  had  told  to 
his  daughter  Scylla.  So,  month  by  month,  the  Cretan 
army  lay  encamped  without  the  walls ;  but  all  their 
attacks  were  thrown  away. 

From  the  highest  tower  of  the  city,  Scylla  so  often 
looked  down  on  the  array  of  her  father's  foes,  that  she 
came  to  know  the  leaders  by  sight  and  by  name.  Always 
her  eyes  sought  out  Minos,  the  famous  king,  who,  enemy 
as  he  was,  seemed  to  her  the  most  goodly  and  gallant 
man  she  had  ever  seen.  Her  heart  followed  her  eyes, 
and  her  dreams  kept  the  hero's  image  In  mind  by  dark- 
ness as  by  daylight,  till  the  love-sick  maiden  thought 
more  of  this  stranger  than  of  her  own  country  or  kin. 

"Were  it  not  well  to  end  the  weary  war.?"  she  told 
herself.  "With  me  for  a  captive,  would  not  the  King 
of  Crete  grant  us  peace?  And  what  could  he  refuse  to 
her  who  put  into  his  hands  the  secret  of  victory.'^" 

Brooding  over  such  thoughts,  at  last  poor  Scylla 
strung  herself  up  to  betray  her  native  city,  for  the  sake 
of  one  whose  voice  she  had  never  heard,  save  raised  In 
menace  against  Its  defenders.  At  the  dead  of  night  she 
stole  to  her  sleeping  father's  couch.     Softly  she  shore  oflr 

136 


SCYLLA  137 

the  shining  purple  lock  that  glittered  like  a  star  among 
his  grey  hair.  Cautiously  she  slipped  out  from  the  gates, 
and  made  her  way  to  the  enemy's  camp,  demanding  of 
the  sentinels  to  lead  her  into  the  presence  of  Minos. 

With  beating  heart  she  knelt  before  the  king,  whose 
love  she  hoped  to  buy  at  such  a  price.  But  when  she 
held  out  to  him  the  purple  lock,  explaining  how  on  it 
lay  the  safety  of  her  father's  kingdom,  and  by  looks 
rather  than  speech  would  have  given  him  to  know  why 
she  thus  played  traitress  to  her  own  people,  the  noble 
Minos  repelled  that  gift  with  scornful  indignation. 

"  A  treacherous  daughter  is  worthy  of  no  brave  man's 
love  I "  he  declared.  "  Begone  from  my  sight,  dishonour 
of  thy  race  and  thy  sex !  Minos  gains  not  victory  by 
baseness." 

Now  that  Megara  lay  at  his  mercy  the  generous  foe 
offered  it  peace,  and,  without  striking  another  blow,  made 
ready  to  sail  away  to  Crete.  Scylla,  wild  with  shame 
and  remorse,  not  daring  to  face  her  father,  begged  in 
vain  to  be  taken  on  board  the  fleet. 

"The  ship  that  bore  thee  would  never  come  safe 
to  port,"  answered  Minos  sternly.  "  Such  a  one  as 
thou  must  be  cursed  by  the  gods,  to  find  no  resting- 
place  on  sea  nor  on  land." 

"  I  deserve  indeed  to  die,"  pleaded  the  miserable 
maiden;  "yet  for  thee  it  was  I  sinned  against  father 
and  country — leave  me  not  to  their  wrath!" 

The  proud  king  turned  away  without  a  word.  When 
she  saw  his  ship  set  sail,  Scylla  in  despair  leaped  into  the 
water,  clinging  to  its  rudder  as  it  stood  away  from  her 
native  shore.  But  down  swooped  an  eagle  to  strike  her 
with  its  beak  and  claws,  so  that  she  let  go  her  hold  and 
would  have  been  drowned,  had  not  some  god  changed 
her  into  a  sea-bird,     In  that  form  is  she  doomed  to  fly 


138  SCYLLA 

homeless  and  restless  over  the  waves,  ever  pursued  by 
the  eagle,  that  is  none  other  than  her  betrayed  father, 
to  whom  the  gods  granted  such  endless  vengeance.  So 
say  some;  but  others  tell  how  the  traitorous  daughter 
was  transformed  into  a  cruel  monster  haunting  the  strait 
between  Italy  and  Sicily, 


BELLEROPHON 

It  seemed  as  if  a  curse  rested  on  the  house  of 
Sisyphus,  king  of  Corinth,  who  for  his  tyranny  and 
treacheries  had  been  doomed  to  endless  labour  in  Hades. 
His  son  Glaucus  was  famed  for  love  of  horses,  which  at 
last  brought  him  to  a  cruel  end,  when  the  mares  which 
he  had  fed  on  human  flesh  turned  madly  upon  their 
master  and  tore  him  in  pieces.  The  son  of  Glaucus 
was  Bellerophon,  a  valiant  and  comely  youth,  who  yet 
could  not  escape  the  evil  fate  of  his  race.  For,  having 
slain  one  of  his  countrymen  in  a  chance  fray,  he  must 
needs  fly  from  Corinth,  to  take  refuge  with  Proetus, 
king  of  Argos. 

This  king  gave  him  kindly  welcome,  sheltering  him 
from  the  avengers,  and  off^ering  solemn  rites  to  cleanse 
his  guilt  of  bloodshed.  Bellerophon^s  youthful  charm 
won  not  only  the  favour  of  Proetus,  but  the  sinful  love 
of  Antea,  the  dark-eyed  princess  whom  he  had  brought 
from  Asia  to  be  his  queen.  But  in  vain  she  tempted 
the  loyal  guest  to  secret  wickedness.  When  all  her 
wiles  could  not  make  him  untrue  to  honour  and  hos- 
pitality, her  love  turned  to  hate,  and  with  a  lying  tale 
she  would  have  stirred  her  husband's  wrath  against  his 
foully  slandered  friend.  The  deceived  Proetus  was  in 
a  strait  what  to  do.  He  had  come  to  love  this  gallant 
youth  so  well,  that  he  could  not  bear  to  have  him  slain 
in  his  own  sight.  Yet,  the  false  wife  poisoning  his  mind, 
he  was  moved  to  wreak  his  jealousy  by  another's  hand. 

139 


I40  BELLEROPHON 

Without  letting  Bellerophon  guess  his  changed  mood, 
he  sent  him  to  visit  his  father-in-law,  lobates,  king  of 
Lycia,  charged  with  a  tablet  on  which  was  written  in 
secret  characters  the  bearer's  doom. 

All  unsuspicious  of  harm,  Bellerophon  made  the  long 
journey  by  sea  and  land,  that  at  last  brought  him  to  the 
city  of  the  Lycian  king.  lobates  received  the  stranger 
like  a  courteous  host,  asking  not  who  he  was,  nor  whence 
he  came,  nor  on  what  errand.  Nine  days  he  entertained 
his  unknown  guest  freely  with  feasts  and  games,  since 
Bellerophon's  noble  bearing  showed  him  worthy  of 
honour  at  a  king's  hands.  Not  till  the  tenth  day  did 
he  declare  his  name,  giving  over  to  lobates  the  tablet 
on  which  Prcetus  had  drawn  a  secret  message,  to  be 
interpreted  by  his  wife's  father  alone. 

"//^  who  hears  this  token  comes  deserving  death  at  thy 
hands.     See  to  it!" 

The  king  of  Lycia,  in  turn,  had  come  to  love  that 
winsome  Greek  so  well  that  he  was  dismayed  to  learn 
how  he  had  been  sent  here  for  execution.  To  his  son- 
in-law  who  gave  him  such  a  charge  lobates  was  so 
beholden  that  he  durst  not  refuse  to  do  his  bidding ; 
yet  loath  was  he  to  punish,  for  an  unknown  crime,  one 
who  had  already  become  his  friend. 

Unwillingly,  he  cast  about  for  some  plan  of  having 
Bellerophon  killed  without  shedding  his  blood  by  his 
own  hands;  nor  had  he  long  to  seek.  The  outskirts 
of  Lycia  were  then  being  ravaged  by  a  fire-breathing 
beast  called  the  Chimaera,  that  had  devoured  every 
champion  set  out  against  it.  The  very  sight  of  it 
indeed  was  enough  to  appal  the  stoutest  heart,  for  it 
had  the  head  of  a  lion,  the  hinder  parts  of  a  dragon, 
the  body  of  a  monstrous  goat,  rough  with  scales  and 
bristles;    and  with  its  breath  it  scorched  all  who  ven- 


BELLEROPHON  141 

tured  to  face  it.  lobates,  then,  believed  himself  giving 
up  Bellerophon  to  certain  death  when  he  begged  him  to 
rid  the  land  of  such  a  plague;  and  his  heart  smote  him 
to  see  how  gladly  the  gallant  youth  took  upon  himself 
that  fatal  adventure. 

The  very  gods  had  pity  on  an  innocent  man  thus 
sent  to  so  cruel  death,  none  the  less  when  by  pious 
sacriiices  he  invoked  their  aid  on  his  perilous  quest. 
Before  going  far  he  came  upon  the  winged  horse 
Pegasus,  sprung  from  the  blood  of  that  Gorgon  slain 
by  Perseus.  Bellerophon  would  fain  have  made  his  own 
such  a  goodly  steed ;  but  Pegasus,  never  yet  backed 
by  man,  reared  and  flung  and  sprang,  and  would  not 
let  itself  be  caught.  Tired  out  by  his  vain  efforts  to 
tame  it,  he  had  fallen  asleep  beside  a  fountain,  when 
Athene  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  who  seemed  to 
lay  a  golden  bridle  at  his  side  and  to  whisper  in  his 
ear — "  JVake^  take^  tame  ". 

He  woke  up,  and  lo !  beside  him  lay  the  golden 
bridle,  while  Pegasus  was  still  feeding  by  the  fountain. 
As  he  softly  stole  up  to  it,  the  horse  did  not  now  dash 
away  from  him,  but,  lowering  its  proud  neck,  let  him 
slip  the  bit  into  its  mouth,  and  stood  still  for  him  to 
leap  upon  its  back.  By  divine  aid  he  had  mastered  the 
horse  of  heaven. 

Mounted  on  such  a  courser  he  soon  reached  the 
haunts  of  the  Chimaera,  that  came  out  raging  against 
him,  vomiting  fire  and  smoke.  But  now  that  monster 
had  to  do  with  an  invincible  foe.  Soaring  in  the  air 
beyond  reach  of  hurt,  Bellerophon  shot  down  sharp 
arrows,  till  the  ground,  burning  under  the  creature's 
breath,  was  quenched  in  its  blood.  Then  the  hero  dis- 
mounted to  cut  off  its  hairy  head  and  scaly  tail,  which 
he  bore  back  in  triumph  as  proof  of  his  victory. 


142  BELLEROPHON 

lobates,  half-glad  to  see  him  return  with  such  spoils, 
half-concerned  to  find  the  victim  still  alive,  soon  took 
excuse  to  lay  upon  him  another  perilous  adventure. 
He  charged  him  with  war  upon  the  Solymi,  a  race  of 
fierce  mountain  robbers  who  infested  the  borders  of 
Lycia,  and  had  slain  the  king's  bravest  fighters  in  many 
a  battle.  But  they  could  not  stand  against  the  darts 
of  this  flying  champion  ;  and  when  he  had  rooted  them 
out  of  the  land,  he  again  came  back  unhurt. 

Next,  lobates  sent  him  far  off  against  the  Amazons, 
that  nation  of  women  warriors  who  had  overthrown 
kings  and  their  armies.  But  them,  too,  Bellerophon 
conquered,  and  again  came  back  in  triumph.  On  his 
way  home  an  ambush  was  laid  for  him  by  lobates,  still 
striving  to  do  his  son-in-law's  desire;  then  the  hero  slew 
these  assailants  as  easily  as  he  quelled  all  other  enemies. 

"This  can  be  no  evildoer  deserving  punishment,  but 
rather  a  man  dear  to  the  gods,"  the  heart  of  lobates  told 
him ;  and  when  once  more  Bellerophon  came  back  vic- 
torious over  every  foe,  the  king  no  longer  sought  his 
death.  Joyfully  he  hailed  him  as  worthy  of  all  honour, 
gave  him  his  daughter  to  wife,  and  shared  with  him  his 
kingdom  and  riches,  as  if  the  stranger  were  his  own  son. 

Thus  raised  to  power  and  wealth,  Bellerophon  might 
surely  rest  in  peace  after  the  trials  of  his  youth.  But 
he  who  had  borne  himself  so  well  in  adversity,  fell  away 
from  virtue  when  life  became  smooth  and  soft  for  him. 
It  seemed  as  if  that  old  guilt  of  bloodshed  ever  rose  up 
against  him.  With  years  he  grew  not  wise  but  proud, 
forgetting  the  gods  to  whom  he  owed  his  good  fortune, 
that  therefore  came  to  be  clouded  by  their  ill  will.  His 
eldest  son  grew  up  a  brave  champion  like  the  father, 
only  to  fall  in  battle  with  savage  robbers.  His  daughter 
was   slain  by  a   shaft  of  offended  Artemis.      Heedless 


BELLEROPHON  143 

of  these  warnings,  Bellerophon  thought  to  fly  to  heaven 
on  his  winged  steed.  Then  Zeus  sent  a  gadfly  to  sting 
Pegasus,  so  that  it  reared  in  the  air  and  threw  off  its 
presumptuous  rider,  tumbling  to  earth  alive  but  sorely 
hurt.  Now  made  aware  of  the  gods'  anger,  the  down- 
fallen  hero  henceforth  shrunk  from  the  looks  of  men. 
Crippled  and  feeble,  he  wandered  about  like  a  madman 
in  solitary  places,  till  at  last  death  ended  his  miserable 
age.  of  which  Homer  has  to  tell  how — 

"  Woes  heaped  on  woes  consumed  his  wasted  heart  '*. 


ARION 

After  Orpheus,  fabled  as  son  of  a  Muse,  the  most 
famous  singer  in  ancient  Greece  was  Arion,  who  lived 
much  with  his  chief  patron,  the  wise  Periander,  king  of 
Corinth.  But  Arion  had  a  mind  for  showing  his  skill  in 
other  lands,  and,  for  all  Periander  could  say  to  keep  him 
at  Corinth,  he  sailed  away  to  take  part  in  a  great  musical 
contest  held  in  Sicily. 

There  this  minstrel  gained  such  prizes  and  so  rich 
gifts  that  it  was  a  treasure  of  gold  and  silver  he  had  to 
take  back  from  the  land  to  which  he  brought  nothing  but 
his  harp.  To  carry  his  wealth  safe  home,  he  hired  a  ship 
of  Corinth,  trusting  Periander's  countrymen  rather  than 
strangers  not  to  play  him  false.  But  the  sailors  were 
covetous  and  treacherous ;  and  the  sight  of  that  treasure 
turned  them  to  pirates. 

All  went  well  with  the  ship ;  and  Arion  little  guessed 
that  he  were  safer  on  the  stormiest  waves.  Halcyon 
weather  and  gentle  breezes  were  bearing  him  round  the 
southern  point  of  Greece,  when  at  once  those  wicked  men 
threw  off  the  mask  of  kindliness.  With  drawn  swords 
they  fell  upon  their  passenger,  declaring  how  they  had 
hatched  a  plot  to  rob  him  of  all  he  possessed. 

"Take  my  gold,  but  spare  my  life!"  he  entreated 
them  to  no  purpose. 

"Then  how  should  we  face  Periander.?"  was  their 
mocking  answer.  "  Thy  gold  will  we  bring  safe  to 
Corinth,  but  not  the  owner,  who  might  tell  tales.    Choose 

144 


ARION  145 

forthwith :  either  slay  thyself  and  get  from  us  the  boon 
of  a  grave  on  shore,  or  we  throw  thee  overboard  with- 
out more  ado." 

All  his  promises  and  prayers  being  lost  on  them,  the 
poor  rich  man  asked  one  last  grace,  that  he  should  be 
allowed  to  deck  himself  in  his  costliest  robes,  and  to  sing 
to  the  harp  his  sweetest  song;  then  he  would  leap  into 
the  sea  and  save  them  the  guilt  of  bloodshed.  To  this 
the  rough  sailors  agreed,  not  unwilling  to  hear  for  once 
the  strains  of  a  renowned  minstrel  who  had  won  all 
that  wealth  they  hoped  now  to  make  their  own. 

So  Arion  robed  himself  in  purple,  and  perfumed  his 
hair,  crowned  with  a  triumphal  wreath  he  took  as  the 
noblest  of  his  winnings.  Thus  arrayed,  he  stood  upon 
the  poop  to  sing  his  death-chant.  Poets  tell  that,  when 
he  sang  in  wood  and  field,  the  lamb  and  the  wolf  would 
stand  together  to  listen,  yea,  the  stag  and  the  lion,  the 
hare  and  the  hounds,  while  overhead  the  dove  and  the 
hawk  hung  still  to  listen  in  the  air.  Now,  so  sweetly  his 
golden  harp  resounded  over  the  sea,  that  not  only  were 
those  cruel  men  half-stirred  to  pity,  but  a  shoal  of  dol- 
phins  gathered  about  the  ship,  drawn  after  the  music  as 
if  by  a  cable.  When  it  came  to  an  end,  taking  one  last 
look  at  the  bright  sky,  harp  in  hand,  Arion  leapt  over- 
board. 

The  pirates  let  their  sail  fill  and  stood  on  for  Greece, 
pleased  to  be  so  well  rid  of  him.  But  Arion  had  not 
sunk  under  the  waves.  He  was  caught  on  the  back  of 
an  admiring  dolphin,  that  carried  him  safe  and  dry  over 
the  sea  to  Taenarum,  the  nearest  point  of  land.  So 
works  the  magic  of  song  for  men  favoured  by  Apollo. 

Thus  set  on  shore,  Arion  travelled  through  the  Pelo- 
ponnesus and  came  to  Corinth  a  day  before  the  ship. 
The  returned  minstrel  was  gladly  welcomed  by  Periander, 


146  ARION 

who,  indeed,  could  ill  believe  his  story  of  strange  escape 
from  drowning.  When  now  the  ship  sailed  into  harbour, 
those  robbers,  summoned  before  the  king,  were  asked  for 
news  of  Arion.  Boldly  they  declared  that  they  had  left 
him  honoured  and  prosperous  in  the  new  Greece  beyond 
the  sea.  But  as  the  false  words  came  from  their  lips,  he 
stepped  forth  before  them  clad  as  they  saw  him  lost  over- 
board, and  still  bearing  the  harp  of  marvellous  power. 

The  amazed  sailors  no  longer  durst  deny  their  crime ; 
but  fell  on  the  ground  praying  for  mercy,  and  for  pardon 
from  their  victim,  whom  they  took  for  a  god.  The 
harper*s  heart  was  not  tuned  to  vengeance ;  but  the  king 
was  stern  in  justice.  He  ordered  the  treacherous  crew 
to  a  death  more  cruel  than  they  had  designed  for  Arion, 
in  memory  of  whose  wonderful  preservation  was  erected 
at  Taenarum  a  brazen  monument  of  him  riding  on  the 
dolphin's  back.^ 

1  Pausanias  speaks  as  if  he  had  seen  this  monument,  and  adds  that  he  had  himself 
known  "  a  dolphin  so  full  of  gratitude  to  a  boy,  by  whom  he  had  been  healed  of  wounds 
received  from  some  fishermen,  that  hf.  was  obedient  to  his  call  and  carried  him  en  his 
back  over  the  sea  whenever  he  wished  ". 


THE    ARGONAUTS 

I,  Jason's  Youth 

In  a  cave  high  up  the  rocky  and  snowy  sides  of 
Mount  Pelion  dwelt  Cheiron,  oldest  and  wisest  of  the 
Centaurs,  that  wondrous  race  that  were  half-horse  and 
half-man.  When  the  brute  strength  of  his  lower  part 
began  to  fail,  the  white-bearded  Centaur's  head  was  richly 
stored  with  knowledge  and  experience,  and  his  hands  had 
rare  skill  in  playing  on  a  golden  harp,  to  the  music  of 
which  he  gave  forth  wise  counsels  in  human  speech.  So 
great  was  his  fame  that  many  a  king's  and  hero's  son 
came  to  be  trusted  to  his  care  for  rearing  in  all  that  be- 
seemed a  noble  youth.  From  him  they  had  lessons  in 
duty,  to  fear  the  gods,  to  reverence  old  age,  and  to  stand 
by  one  another  in  pain  and  hardship.  He  was  a  master 
of  the  healing  art,  and  this  they  learned  as  from  the  lips 
of  iEsculapius  himself.  He  taught  them  to  sing,  to  make 
music,  to  bear  themselves  gracefully  in  the  dance,  but  also 
to  run,  box,  and  wrestle,  to  climb  the  dizzy  rocks,  and  to 
hunt  wild  beasts  in  the  mountain  forests,  laughing  at  all 
dangers  as  they  scorned  sloth  and  gluttony,  and  cheerily 
facing  the  sharpest  storms  of  winter  as  they  plunged  into 
foaming  torrents  under  the  hot  summer  sun.  So  in  all 
the  world  there  were  no  goodlier  lads  than  they  who  grew 
up  under  the  care  of  Cheiron  to  be  both  skilful  and 
strong,  modest  as  well  as  brave,  and  fitted  to  rule  by 
having  rightly  known  to  obey. 

147 


148  THE   ARGONAUTS 

Among  that  youthful  fellowship,  goodliest  in  his  day 
was  Jason,  a  boy  of  princely  race,  nay,  a  king's  son  by 
right.  For  his  father  ^son  had  been  born  heir  of  lolcos, 
yet  let  this  kingdom  be  stolen  from  him  by  his  wicked 
half-brother  Pelias,  who  would  have  slain  Jason  to  make 
that  wrongdoing  sure.  But  -^son  had  saved  the  child  by 
flight,  hiding  him  in  Cheiron's  cave,  where  for  years  he 
little  guessed  how  it  was  his  own  heritage  of  rich  plain 
and  well-peopled  seashore  on  which  he  looked  down  from 
the  cloud-wrapped  ridges  of  Mount  Pelion;  nor  did  Pelias 
know  what  a  champion  was  growing  up  within  sight  of  his 
usurped  realm. 

But  when  the  sturdy  lad  had  shot  to  full  stature,  and 
his  mind,  no  longer  set  on  boyish  sport  and  mirth,  turned 
eagerly  to  the  wide  world  in  which  he  might  prove  his 
manhood,  old  Cheiron  saw  the  time  come  to  let  him  know 
the  secret  of  his  birth,  and  how  he  was  destined  to  avenge 
on  Pelias  the  wrong  done  to  his  father.  The  young  hero 
heard  in  amazement ;  then  not  a  day  would  he  delay  in 
setting  out  on  the  adventure  in  store  for  him.  Taking 
leave  of  his  envious  playmates,  he  dutifully  received  his 
old  master's  parting  counsel. 

"  I  need  not  wish  thee  fearless  before  enemies  ;  but 
remember  how  it  becomes  a  king's  son  to  be  friendly  to 
all  other  men,  and  helpful  in  their  need." 

The  youth's  heart  beat  high  with  hope,  as  under  the 
bright  morning  sun  he  took  his  way  down  the  mountain, 
where  every  step  brought  him  nearer  in  view  of  the  un- 
known world  below.  Lightly  clad  in  a  close-fitting  vest 
beneath  a  panther's  skin  he  had  won  by  his  own  spear, 
his  feet  shod  with  new  sandals,  his  long  hair  streaming  in 
the  wind,  Jason  bounded  from  rock  to  rock,  and  stepped 
out  under  the  cool  shade  of  pine  woods,  and  pushed 
through  thickets  of  tangled  shrubs,  all  familiar  to  him. 


JASON'S   YOUTH  149 

for  Chelron  had  taught  his  scholars  to  know  every  flower 
and  leaf  on  their  mountain  home.  But  when  the  steep 
paths  had  brought  him  down  to  the  lowland  country,  he 
found  it  covered  with  fields  of  corn,  lush  meadows,  groves 
of  fruit  trees,  and  such  signs  of  human  habitation.  Yet  It 
was  his  hap  to  meet  no  soul  to  bid  him  speed,  till  on  the 
bank  of  a  rushing  river  he  found  an  old  woman  in  mean 
rags,  who  rocked  herself  feebly  as  she  sat  and  cried  out 
beseechingly — 

"Alas  !  who  will  carry  me  across  .?" 

With  disdain  Jason  looked  at  this  poor  crone,  and 
with  doubt  at  the  foaming  torrent,  swollen  by  the  melting 
of  the  snows  above.  But  to  his  mind  came  Cheiron's 
word  that  he  must  be  helpful  to  all  kindly  folk ;  and  the 
youth  took  shame  to  himself  that  he  had  turned  proudly 
from  one  who  rather  called  on  him  for  pity. 

"  My  shoulders  are  broad  enough  for  such  a  light 
load ! "  said  he  heartily.  "  Up  with  thee,  old  mother, 
and,  the  gods  aiding,  I  will  bear  thee  safe  I " 

Without  more  ado,  before  he  could  raise  a  hand  to 
lift  her  up,  the  seeming  helpless  beggar  sprang  on  his 
back;  and  with  her  arms  clinging  round  his  neck,  he 
strode  boldly  into  the  stream.  He  slipped,  he  staggered 
as  it  took  him  to  the  knees,  to  the  waist,  to  the  shoulders ; 
and  he  had  almost  been  put  to  swimming  for  it,  while  the 
old  hag  moaned  and  shrieked  for  terror,  crying  out  that 
he  was  drowning  her,  and  abusing  him  crossly  for  wetting 
her  worthless  rags. 

"  Hold  on  fast ! "  was  his  cheery  answer,  though  she 
half-choked  him  by  her  clutching  fingers. 

For  a  moment  he  had  a  mind  to  throw  off  this  thank- 
less stranger,  and  take  his  own  chance  of  buffeting  the 
flooded  torrent.  But  he  knew  that  thought  for  unworthy, 
and  struggled  on  sturdily  to  gain  at  last  the  further  bank. 


I50  THE   ARGONAUTS 

Here  as  he  scrambled  to  shore,  all  dripping  and  breath- 
less, and  would  have  gently  laid  down  his  burden  on  the 
grass,  she  sprang  from  his  back  to  take  on  a  wondrously 
altered  guise.  For  when  he  looked  to  see  a  wrinkled  and 
bent  crone,  with  hardly  a  word  to  thank  her  helper,  lo ! 
there  stood  before  him  a  tall  and  stately  form,  like  no 
daughter  of  woman,  her  rags  changed  to  jewelled  robes, 
and  her  eyes  now  smiling  on  him  so  radiantly  that  he 
knew  her  as  of  divine  race. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  reading  his  mind.  "  I  am  indeed 
Hera,  the  queen  of  heaven,  to  whom  thou  hast  done  such 
service  unaware.  Not  in  vain  was  thy  spirit  humbled 
and  thy  back  bowed  for  one  appearing  to  be  poor  and 
helpless.  In  thine  own  hour  of  need,  call  upon  me,  and 
see  if  a  goddess  can  be  grateful." 

Speechless,  the  youth  fell  upon  his  knees,  his  eyes 
dazzled  by  the  vision  of  glory  that,  as  he  gazed,  went  up 
in  a  shining  cloud;  and  when  he  could  see  clearly,  he  was 
alone  on  the  river  bank. 

Thanking  the  gods  that  he  had  been  true  to  his  better 
nature  and  to  the  teaching  of  his  master,  Jason  took  his 
way  onwards  to  a  city  whose  towers  stood  out  before  him 
upon  the  plain.  But  now  he  limped  along  more  slowly, 
for  he  found  he  had  lost  one  of  his  sandals,  left  sticking 
in  the  slimy  bed  of  the  torrent,  where  a  sharp  stone  had 
cut  his  bare  foot.  Schooled  as  he  had  been  to  make  light 
of  such  mishaps,  he  bound  up  his  hurt  with  soft  leaves, 
and  held  on  through  shade  and  sunshine  till  towards 
evening  he  reached  the  gate  of  lolcos. 

There  he  found  all  astir  with  a  great  feast  held  by 
Pelias  in  honour  of  the  gods.  Many  an  eye  was  cast 
curiously  on  this  comely  youth,  as  he  wandered  through 
the  streets,  sun-tanned  and  dusty  from  the  long  way. 
He  thought  these  trim  citizens  despised  him  for  being 


JASON'S   YOUTH  151 

but  half-shod,  for  he  knew  not  what  was  known  to  them, 
how  an  oracle  had  foretold  that  Pelias  should  lose  his  ill- 
gotten  kingdom  to  a  stranger  who  came  wearing  but  one 
sandal. 

Seeking  his  way  to  the  palace,  he  presented  himself 
before  Pelias,  who,  amid  all  his  royal  state,  might  well 
start  at  the  sight  of  this  half  -  barefooted  youth,  since 
night  and  day  his  guilty  mind  never  forgot  what  sign 
was  to  mark  the  avenger. 

"Thy  name  and  lineage  ?''  he  faltered  forth. 

"  I  am  Jason,  son  of  ^son,  come  to  claim  my  right- 
ful heritage,"  declared  the  youth  boldly. 

The  king's  heart  sank  within  him,  for  he  was  as  full 
of  fears  as  of  falsehood  and  cruelty.  But,  hiding  his 
dismay,  he  made  a  show  of  welcoming  this  nephew  with 
joy,  and  bid  him  sit  down  at  the  feast  beside  his  own 
fair  daughters.  To-morrow,  he  said,  would  be  fitter 
time  to  talk  about  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom.  Mean- 
while, let  all  be  joy  and  mirth  to  hail  the  return  of  a 
nephew  long  given  up  for  dead. 

Simple  and  honest  himself,  Jason  was  won  by  his 
uncle's  fine  words  and  by  the  charms  of  his  new-found 
cousins.  Their  seeming  kindness  turned  his  head,  so 
that  he  let  his  heart  go  out  to  them,  believing  Pelias 
must  have  been  slandered  as  a  faithless  usurper.  He 
ate  and  drank  among  them  friendly,  then,  flushed  with 
wine,  listened  eagerly  to  the  minstrels  who  cheered  the 
banquet.  A  song  that  set  his  pulses  beating  was  the 
tale  of  the  Golden  Fleece :  how  Phrixus  and  Helle,  a 
king's  son  and  daughter,  were  persecuted  by  their  cruel 
stepmother  Ino ;  how  they  fled  from  her  on  a  golden 
ram,  sent  by  a  friendly  god;  how  poor  Helle,  turning 
giddy  as  they  flew  over  land  and  sea,  fell  from  its  back 
into  the  Hellespont,  that  has  ever  afterwards  been  known 


152  THE   ARGONAUTS 

by  her  name ;  but  Phrixus  safely  reached  Colchis  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  dark  Euxine  Sea;  how  he  sacrificed 
the  ram  to  Zeus,  and  hung  up  its  fleece  in  a  sacred  grove 
by  the  river  of  the  Colchians,  among  whom  henceforth 
he  lived  and  died.  There  it  was  jealously  treasured  by 
^etes,  king  of  that  distant  land,  whose  own  life,  said 
an  oracle,  depended  on  its  safe  keeping,  so  that  he  had 
it  guarded  night  and  day  by  a  sleepless  serpent,  as  by 
other  perils  no  hero  had  been  found  bold  enough  to 
face ;  but  never  would  the  ghost  of  dead  Phrixus  be  laid 
till  the  Golden  Fleece  were  won  back  to  his  kinsmen  in 
Greece.  This  song  had  been  sung  by  command  of  Pelias; 
and  keenly  he  watched  his  nephew's  flashing  eyes  as  the 
moving  tale  was  told. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  the  crafty  king,  "  time  was  when 
I  would  have  dared  all  for  such  a  prize.  But  I  am  old, 
and  the  sons  of  our  day  are  not  as  their  fathers.  Where 
lives  the  man  who  will  venture  to  bring  back  the  Golden 
Fleece.?" 

"  Here ! "  cried  Jason,  leaping  to  his  feet.  "  I  will 
seek  the  Fleece,  if  I  have  to  pay  for  it  with  my  life." 

His  cunning  uncle  made  haste  to  embrace  him,  with 
feigned  pride  and  joy  in  a  youth  worthy  of  their  heroic 
stock.  Yes,  let  him  bring  the  Golden  Fleece  to  lolcos; 
and  he  himself  would  gladly  give  up  the  kingdom  to  the 
hero  of  such  a  deed !  So  he  promised,  secretly  trusting 
that  his  brave  kinsman  would  never  come  back  from  that 
perilous  errand ;  and  thus  by  guile  and  flattery  he  hoped 
to  make  himself  sure  of  his  stolen  power. 

When,  after  a  night's  sleep,  he  came  to  think  calmly 
over  his  undertaking,  Jason  might  well  see  its  rashness, 
and  maybe  he  suspected  how  his  uncle  had  thus  schemed 
to  get  rid  of  him.  But  the  old  Centaur  had  taught  him 
never  to  draw  back  from  his  word,  and  what  he  had 


JASON'S   YOUTH  153 

spoken  in  haste  he  must  strive  to  perform  by  dint  of 
courage  and  prudence.  He  sought  the  aid  of  a  cunning 
shipwright  called  Argus,  who  from  the  tall  pines  of 
Mount  Pelion  built  him  a  fifty-oared  ship,  so  strong  that 
it  could  bear  the  buffeting  of  winds  and  waves,  yet  so 
light  that  it  might  be  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  its 
crew.  This  was  named  the  Argo^  after  its  builder. 
To  man  it,  Jason  sent  out  to  his  old  schoolmates  and 
to  other  heroes  of  Greece,  summoning  stout  hearts  and 
arms  ready  to  join  him  in  the  quest  of  the  Golden  Fleece. 

While  they  came  together,  Jason  betook  himself  to 
Hera's  sacred  grove  at  Dodona,  beseeching  her  promised 
favour,  of  which  he  was  assured  by  the  Speaking  Oak 
that  made  her  oracle.  As  proof  of  her  gratitude,  he  was 
bidden  to  tear  away  a  limb  of  that  oak  to  make  a  figure- 
head for  his  ship ;  and  this  lifeless  wood  had  the  power 
of  speech,  through  which,  when  in  doubt  or  danger,  he 
might  be  counselled  by  the  goddess.  Moreover,  she 
procured  the  goodwill  of  wise  Athene  to  inspire  Argus 
in  building  the  ship,  which  should  set  out  under  such 
high  auspices. 

For  comrades  he  had  the  best  and  bravest  of  the 
Grecian  youth,  sons  of  gods  and  men,  a  band  henceforth 
to  be  known  as  the  Argonauts.  Among  those  heroes 
were  names  of  fame — Hercules,  the  twin-brethren  Castor 
and  Pollux,  Theseus,  Orpheus,  Peleus,  Admetus,  and 
many  more,  fifty  in  all,  one  to  each  oar  of  the  galley, 
in  which  their  seats  were  fixed  by  lot.  Argus  himself 
made  one  of  the  crew,  and  Acastus,  the  son  of  Pelias, 
stole  off  to  join  them  against  his  father's  will.  Tiphys 
was  their  steersman;  sharp-eyed  Lynceus  their  pilot. 
With  one  voice  they  would  have  chosen  Hercules  for 
captain ;  but  he  gave  the  leadership  to  Jason,  and  all 
were  content.     After  due  sacrifices  to  the  gods,  and  fare- 


(c;i6») 


154  THE   ARGONAUTS 

wells  to  their  friends,  they  launched  forth  the  Argo  into 
the  blue  sea,  its  prow  set  towards  the  clouds  hiding  that 
far-off  eastern  land  whence  they  must  tear  the  Golden 
Fleece.  Orpheus  put  heart  into  them  with  his  songs ; 
but  there  was  a  tear  in  Jason^s  eye,  as  he  saw  the  moun- 
tains of  his  fatherland  fade  away  behind  their  track. 

II.  The  Voyage  to  Colchis 

'Twere  long  to  tell  all  that  hindered  those  heroes  on 
^heir  far  course,  and  how  one  and  another  were  cut  off 
by  mishaps,  never  to  reach  the  Colchian  land.  Turn- 
ing from  the  shores  of  Thessaly,  they  stood  across  the 
iEgean  Sea  to  the  rocky  island  of  Lemnos,  where  a 
strange  snare  was  set  for  them.  The  women  of  the 
island,  maddened  by  jealousy,  had  slain  all  their  men 
folk,  and,  now  vainly  repentant,  hailed  the  newcomers  as 
husbands  for  their  defenceless  need.  Jason  and  most  of 
his  crew,  going  among  them,  gave  way  to  their  endear- 
ments, and  amidst  pleasures  and  feasting  were  tempted 
to  forget  what  work  they  had  on  hand.  But  stout- 
hearted Hercules  had  stayed  by  the  ship ;  and  when  he 
came  on  shore  to  chide  his  comrades,  they  took  shame 
for  their  softness,  and  tore  themselves  away  to  face  the 
cold  sea  winds  like  men,  who  for  a  moment  had  been 
caught  by  womanly  wiles. 

Bending  afresh  to  their  oars,  they  passed  through 
the  Hellespont  and  came  to  a  haven  in  the  Propontis 
Sea,  where  Cyzicus,  the  young  king  of  the  Doliones, 
received  them  gladly  and  would  have  them  stay  to  his 
wedding  feast.  But  Hercules,  again  on  watch  in  the 
ship,  saw  how  here  too  there  was  a  snare  set.  For  a 
race  of  giant  savages  came  down  from  the  hills,  and  were 
blocking  up  the  harbour  mouth  with  huge  stones,  when 


iP^Bj 

H 

■  ^  ^""^ll^^il^^BH^^I 

^^^^^BE^^Hh^^I^^^ 

^^f^jfl^HH^.^^^^^^LVpV^^^^I 

^^^1 

SK^  ^      ^B 

^^^^H 

^Vi 

^^^■^2  >  ^^i^^^^^^^l 

^KT 

■iwl^BB 

THE   VOYAGE   TO   COLCHIS  155 

Hercules  gave  the  alarm,  and  with  his  arrows  kept  off 
these  foemen,  who  fell  or  fled  when  the  whole  band  had 
gathered  to  defend  their  ship.  And  worse  was  to  betide 
here,  for  when  the  y^rgo  steered  forth  into  the  open 
sea,  a  storm  drove  her  back  by  night,  and  their  late 
friendly  hosts,  the  Doliones,  taking  them  for  enemies, 
set  upon  them  in  the  darkness,  so  that  Jason  unaware 
slew  the  young  king  at  whose  marriage  he  had  sat  a 
guest.  Daylight  showed  both  bands  how  they  had  mis- 
taken each  other ;  then  for  three  days  the  Argonauts 
tarried  to  celebrate  the  funeral  rites  of  those  unhappily 
slain. 

But  soon  they  were  to  lose  stout  Hercules,  who  more 
than  once  had  served  them  so  well.  As  he  tugged  at  his 
oar  in  the  stormy  waves,  it  broke,  and  not  easily  could 
another  be  found  to  match  his  brawny  arms.  When 
next  they  went  on  shore  and  his  companions  were  being 
feasted  by  the  hospitable  Mysians,  Hercules  strode  off 
into  the  forest  to  cut  for  himself  a  new  oar  from  some 
tall  pine  tree.  With  him  went  the  beautiful  boy  Hylas, 
whom  he  loved  like  a  son,  and  also  another  of  the  crew 
named  Polyphemus.  While  Hercules  stripped  himself 
to  fell  the  tree  he  had  chosen,  young  Hylas  turned  aside 
to  a  spring  from  which  he  would  have  drawn  water  for 
their  supper.  In  this  spring  dwelt  a  bevy  of  water 
nymphs,  who,  as  they  saw  the  boy  leaning  over  with 
his  brazen  pitcher,  were  so  taken  by  his  beauty,  that  they 
cast  their  arms  round  him  and  dragged  him  down  into 
the  water,  never  again  to  be  seen  of  men.  Polyphemus 
heard  his  last  cry,  and  hastened  to  tell  Hercules  that  the 
lad  was  being  caught  by  robbers  or  wild  beasts. 

In  vain  these  two  searched  for  him  through  the 
forest,  shouting  and  raging  against  the  unseen  foe  who 
had  laid  hands  on  the  hero's  darling.     Meanwhile  their 


156  THE   ARGONAUTS 

shipmates  impatiently  awaited  them,  for  the  wind  had 
turned  fair.  When  the  hours  passed  and  Hercules  came 
not,  they  fell  to  quarrelling  among  themselves,  for  some 
said  they  should  not  go  without  that  tower  of  strength, 
but  others  were  for  leaving  him  behind.  So,  in  the  end, 
they  did,  and  with  quiet  minds  after  the  sea-god  Glaucus 
had  risen  from  the  waves  to  disclose  to  them  how  Her- 
cules was  not  destined  to  share  the  gaining  of  the  Golden 
Fleece.  That  hero  had  glory  enough  awaiting  him  else- 
where. 

On  their  next  landing,  Hercules  might  have  found 
a  task  worthy  of  him,  for  this  was  the  country  of  the 
Bebrycians,  whose  brawny  king's  humour  was  to  chal- 
lenge all  strangers  to  box  with  him,  never  yet  having 
met  his  match.  But  Pollux  took  up  the  challenge,  and 
after  doughty  blows  on  both  sides,  smote  the  boaster  to 
the  ground ;  then  his  angry  people  would  have  avenged 
him  with  their  weapons ;  but  the  Argonauts  drove  them 
away  like  wolves.  Before  letting  him  rise,  the  hero 
made  that  churlish  king  swear  to  handle  strangers  more 
courteously  henceforth. 

A  more  unfamiliar  combat  it  was  they  undertook  on 
coming  to  the  home  of  the  blind  king  Phineus,  who  was 
tormented  by  winged  Harpies  that  pounced  upon  his 
food  to  snatch  or  defile  it  ere  he  could  carry  a  morsel  to 
his  mouth.  But  two  of  Jason's  band  were  winged  men, 
able  to  rise  in  the  air  and  drive  away  those  monstrous 
birds,  letting  the  blind  old  man  eat  in  peace  his  first 
meal  for  many  a  day.  In  gratitude,  he  warned  them  of 
dangers  on  their  course,  and  first  of  the  Symplegades, 
two  islands  of  floating  ice-rock  that  would  open  like  a 
monster's  jaws  to  close  upon  their  ship  and  crush  it, 
unless  they  could  speed  through  at  the  nick  of  time. 
By  his  advice  they  took  a  dove  on  board  to  show  then) 


THE  VOYAGE  TO   COLCHIS  157 

the  opening  of  the  perilous  passage.  Loosing  the  dove, 
they  saw  it  fly  through  those  heaving  rocks,  that  closed 
to  snap  off  but  its  last  feather  and  again  drew  asunder 
in  haste ;  then  the  Argonauts  pulled  hard  at  their  oars, 
and  their  wary  steersman  brought  them  darting  between 
the  icy  walls  that  in  another  moment  would  have  clashed 
upon  them. 

Holding  their  way  along  the  coast  of  the  black 
Pontus,  they  met  with  other  mischances  and  delays. 
Where  king  Lycus  entertained  them  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Acheron,  Idmon,  the  diviner,  blind  to  his  own  fate, 
was  slain  by  the  tusk  of  a  wild  boar.  Here,  too,  their 
steersman  Tiphys  died  of  short  sickness ;  and  days  were 
spent  on  the  funeral  piles.  Well  for  the  heroes,  it  may 
be,  that  they  did  not  linger  in  the  land  of  the  Amazons, 
for  these  fierce  women  were  more  ready  to  wield  sword 
and  spear  than  distaff  or  needle ;  yet  with  them  some 
of  the  crew  would  have  tried  a  bout,  as  if  they  had  not 
perils  enough  that  could  not  be  passed  by!  Also  they 
skirted  the  coast  of  the  Chalybes,  those  sooty  iron  smiths 
that  night  and  day  forge  arms  in  the  service  of  Ares. 
Next,  standing  out  to  sea,  they  were  attacked  by  a  flock 
of  prodigious  birds,  called  the  Stymphalides,  that  cast 
their  brazen  feathers  from  them  like  darts  to  wound 
the  men  at  their  oars.  But  while  half  of  them  rowed 
on,  the  other  half  stood  on  guard,  and  raised  such  a 
din  by  smiting  spear  upon  shield,  that  the  birds  were 
scared  away,  and  the  Argo  could  anchor  safely  by  an 
island  near  the  east  end  of  this  sea. 

Here  they  drew  near  to  their  goal,  and  now  they 
fell  in  with  new  comrades  that  would  stead  them  well. 
For,  shipwrecked  on  this  island,  they  found  four  naked 
youths,  the  sons  of  Phrixus,  him  who  had  brought  the 
Fleece  to  Colchis.      Clad  and  fed  by  Jason,  these  four 


158  THE   ARGONAUTS 

agreed  to  guide  his  company  to  the  home  of  iEetes,  yet 
not  without  dread,  for  they  knew  how  jealously  that 
cruel  king  guarded  the  Fleece  on  which  hung  his  own 
life.  But  the  Argonauts,  come  safe  through  so  many 
perils,  made  light  of  all  ^Eetes  could  do  against  them ; 
and  with  the  sons  of  Phrixus  for  pilots,  they  stood  across 
the  sea  to  where  the  ice -topped  Caucasus  echoed  the 
groans  of  Prometheus  chained  upon  a  cloudy  crag.  And 
so  at  last  the  Argo  entered  the  Phasis,  river  of  Colchis, 
and  by  its  bank  her  crew  saw  the  dark  grove  sacred  to 
Ares,  in  which  gleamed  that  Golden  Fleece  they  had 
come  to  fetch  away. 

III.  The  Winning  of  the  Fleece 

Leaving  the  most  of  his  men  to  guard  their  ship, 
Jason  went  forward  to  the  city  with  a  few  companions, 
among  them  the  four  sons  of  Phrixus,  who  were  here 
at  home.  Forth  to  meet  them  came  King  ^etes,  for 
from  his  towers  he  had  seen  the  Argo  reach  the  Colchian 
shore;  and  an  evil  dream  had  warned  him  of  her  errand. 
With  him  came  his  young  son  Absyrtus,  also  his  two 
daughters,  Medea  the  witch-maiden,  and  Chalciope,  the 
widow  of  Phrixus.  Right  glad  was  she  to  see  her  sons, 
whom  she  had  mourned  as  lost.  As  her  sister  had  done 
on  Phrixus  years  before,  Medea  looked  kindly  upon 
Jason,  for  in  a  dream  she  had  foreseen  his  coming,  and 
no  such  goodly  man  could  she  see  in  Colchis.  Their 
dark-minded  sire  had  little  joy  to  hail  those  strangers, 
yet  hiding  his  ill  will,  he  led  them  to  the  lordly  halls  of 
his  dwelling,  and  set  food  and  drink  before  them. 

Not  till  the  guests  had  eaten,  did  he  ask  what  brought 
them  to  Colchis.  Then  with  Medea's  eyes  ever  fixed 
upon  him,  Jason  told  of  their  voyage,  and  all  the  perils 


THE   WINNING   OF   THE   FLEECE      159 

they  had  come  through  for  the  sake  of  the  Golden 
Fleece,  which  he  boldly  demanded  as  their  reward.  To 
this  the  frowning  king  made  answer: — 

"  Verily,  it  is  a  vain  errand  to  come  on  from  so 
far.  What  ye  have  borne  is  but  child's  play  to  that 
which  the  man  must  dare  who  would  prove  himself 
worthy  of  such  a  prize.  Listen,  stranger,  if  thou  have 
the  heart  even  to  hear  the  trial  appointed  for  that  rash 
hand  that  may  not  touch  sacred  things  till  he  have  proved 
himself  more  than  man.  Two  brazen  -  hoofed  bulls, 
breathing  fire  from  their  nostrils,  must  he  tame  and 
yoke  to  a  plough.  Thus  must  he  plough  four  acres 
of  stony  field,  and  sow  the  furrows  with  the  teeth  of 
a  venomous  dragon.  From  these  teeth  will  spring  up 
forthwith  a  crop  of  armed  foemen,  to  be  mowed  down 
before  they  can  slay  him.  All  this  must  he  accomplish 
between  the  sun*s  rising  and  setting ;  then  if  he  still 
dare,  he  may  strive  with  the  serpent  that  guards  the 
Fleece  night  and  day.     Art  thou  the  man.?" 

Jason's  heart  quailed  within  him  as  he  listened  to 
this  tale  of  terrors,  that  indeed  seemed  more  than  mortal 
strength  could  affront.  But  he  showed  no  fear,  and, 
trusting  in  the  favour  of  Hera  and  his  own  arm,  he  let 
the  king  know  that  he  was  ready  for  that  ordeal,  the 
sooner  the  better.  Since  it  must  take  the  whole  day, 
this  was  put  off  till  next  morning ;  and  the  hero  went 
back  to  his  ship  to  rest  before  meeting  those  unearthly 
adversaries. 

But  while  he  slept,  others  in  Colchis  were  wakeful. 
Chalciope  wept  in  sore  dismay,  fearing  lest,  if  Jason 
failed  in  his  attempt,  -^etes  would  slay  all  the  Argo- 
nauts, and  among  them  her  sons  who  had  guided  their 
ship  to  Colchis.  Therefore  she  sought  the  aid  of  her 
witch  sister  to  work  some  spell  on  behalf  of  the  strangers. 


r6o  THE   ARGONAUTS 

Nor  did  Medea  need  persuading  to  pity,  for  at  first  sight 
she  had  loved  Jason,  and  was  minded  to  save  him  from 
the  death  designed  by  her  cruel  father.  At  nightfall 
she  wandered  among  the  woods  gathering  herbs  and 
roots,  out  of  whose  juices  she  knew  the  art  to  make  a 
magic  salve,  that  for  one  whole  day  could  keep  a  man 
scathless  from  fire  and  sword,  and  temper  all  his  arms 
against  the  doughtiest  stroke.  Her  charms  duly  worked, 
wrapped  in  a  veil  she  went  towards  the  harbour  at 
the  earliest  peep  of  dawn,  and  there  met  Jason  coming 
forth  to  see  the  sun  rise  once  more,  if  never  again. 

"Wilt  thou  go  to  death?"  whispered  a  veiled  woman 
in  his  ear. 

"  I  had  not  come  to  Colchis,  did  I  fear  death," 
answered  Jason. 

"A  bold  heart  alone  will  not  avail.  But  one  friend 
hast  thou  in  this  land,  else  thou  wert  lost,"  murmured 
the  witch  -  maiden ;  and  Jason  knew  her  voice  for  that 
of  the  king's  daughter  whose  dark  eyes  had  met  his 
so  kindly. 

Hastily  she  gave  him  to  understand  how  by  her  aid 
he  might  pass  through  the  sore  ordeal  unhurt.  Then 
the  longer  he  listened,  the  more  ready  he  was  to  trust 
her  counsels,  daughter  of  an  enemy  as  she  was.  When 
in  whispers  she  had  told  him  all  he  must  do,  Medea 
put  into  his  hands  the  magical  salve,  and  fled  back  to 
her  father's  house  as  day  began  to  break. 

Jason  lost  no  time  in  putting  her  spell  to  the  proof. 
After  bathing  in  the  sea,  he  anointed  himself  from  head 
to  foot  with  that  salve,  also  his  shield,  his  helmet,  and 
all  his  weapons.  This  done,  he  let  his  comrades  try 
their  utmost  upon  him  arrayed  in  the  charmed  armour. 
The  strongest  of  them  hacked  at  his  spear  without  being 
able  to  break  it  with  the  sharpest  sword ;  the  mightiest 


THE   WINNING  OF  THE   FLEECE      i6i 

blows  made  no  dint  on  his  polished  shield ;  and  he  stood 
like  a  rock  against  the  brawniest  wrestler  of  the  band. 
Seeing,  then,  how  Medea  had  been  true  with  him  so 
far,  he  did  not  doubt  to  follow  out  her  bidding  to  the 
end ;  so  his  heart  was  high  as  he  presented  himself  to 
the  king  at  sunrise. 

"Hast  thou  not  repented?"  asked  ^etes  with  a 
sneer.  "  I  had  hoped  to  find  thee  stolen  away  through 
the  night  with  all  thy  presumptuous  crew.  It  is  no  will 
of  mine  that  a  stranger  must  perish  miserably.  Bethink 
thee  once  again  ! " 

"The  sun  is  in  the  sky;  and  I  am  ready,"  answered 
Jason. 

Without  more  ado,  the  king  led  him  to  a  field  where 
were  laid  out  the  brazen  yoke,  the  iron  plough,  and 
the  goad  with  which  he  must  tame  those  fiery  bulls, 
whose  bellowing  could  be  heard  from  their  stable  under- 
ground. All  the  beholders  drew  back,  while  Jason  stuck 
sword  and  spear  in  the  earth,  hung  to  them  his  helmet, 
and,  throwing  oflF  his  mantle,  stood  nude  like  a  marble 
statue  with  only  his  shield  in  hand. 

Out  came  the  brazen  -  footed  bulls  so  suddenly  as 
seeming  to  rise  from  the  ground,  that  shook  beneath 
them  as  they  bounded  upon  Jason,  snorting  red  flames 
from  their  nostrils,  and  roaring  like  thunder  amid  a 
cloud  of  hot  smoke.  But  the  hero  fled  not  nor  flinched 
at  their  onset.  He  held  up  his  shield,  against  which  they 
dashed  their  iron  horns  in  vain,  and  behind  it  he  stood 
unhurt  by  their  scorching  breath.  All  other  eyes  were 
half-blinded  in  the  smoke  and  dust,  but  they  could  see 
anon  how  the  hero  caught  one  bull  by  the  horn  to  bring 
it  on  its  back  by  sheer  strength,  and  how  ht  flung  down 
the  other  to  its  knees,  wrestling  against  both  of  them 
with  hand  and  foot.     They  being  thus  overthrown,  he 

(0288)  7a 


1 62  THE   ARGONAUTS 

forced  upon  their  necks  the  strong  yoke,  and  harnessed 
them  to  the  heavy  plough,  and,  goading  them  forward, 
though  they  bellowed  and  struggled  like  a  storm  wind, 
he  ploughed  up  the  field  with  deep  and  straight  furrows, 
to  the  wonder  of  all  looking  on  and  the  secret  joy  of 
Medea,  who  in  the  background  kept  muttering  magic 
spells  on  his  behalf. 

Even  scowling  ^etes  could  not  but  marvel  at  such 
feats.  But  wrath  was  in  his  heart  as  he  saw  half  the 
appointed  task  done,  and  still  it  was  but  noon.  Yet 
he  trusted  that  the  other  half  were  beyond  this  bull- 
taming  champion's  strength.  When  the  weary  beasts 
had  been  driven  back  to  their  underground  cave,  he 
gave  Jason  a  helmet  full  of  dragons'  teeth  to  sow  in 
the  fresh  furrows.  Strange  seed  that  was,  for  no  sooner 
had  the  earth  covered  it  than  the  whole  field  began  to 
stir  and  swell  as  if  it  were  alive,  and  from  every  heaving 
clod  glistened  blades  that  were  not  green  grass  but  sharp 
bronze  and  iron,  the  bare  ground  quickly  bursting  forth 
with  a  crop  of  helmets  and  spears  which  rose  higher 
every  moment,  and  grew  up  above  shields  and  clanging 
mail  till  every  furrow  bristled  with  a  rank  of  armed 
warriors,  to  be  mowed  down  by  Jason  ere  the  sun  sank 
over  the  sea. 

And  now  Medea's  secret  counsel  served  him  well, 
for  he  took  not  spear  nor  sword  in  hand,  but,  when  the 
warriors  were  full  grown  and  stood  like  bearded  corn 
ripe  for  the  sickle,  he  pitched  amidst  them  a  huge  stone, 
such  as  might  have  made  a  quoit  for  a  giant.  The  rattle 
and  crash  of  it  was  drowned  by  the  yells  of  the  armed 
men,  turning  here  and  there  to  ask  who  had  cast  this 
missile  against  them.  So  hot  for  fight  were  they  that 
forthwith  they  fell  blindly  upon  one  another,  wrestling 
together  and  plying  sword  and  spear  on  the  joints  of 


THE   WINNING   OF  THE   FLEECE      163 

each  other's  harness.  Thus  madly  and  blindly  they 
fought,  some  springing  up  from  the  ground  only  to  be 
reaped  in  death.  So,  while  Jason  leant  on  his  spear  to 
watch  how  these  prodigious  foes  struck  down  their  own 
brethren,  the  fight  went  on  till  the  furrows  were  filled 
with  blood  and  the  field  lay  strewn  with  corpses,  laid 
low  as  under  a  hailstorm.  And  when  the  sun  set,  the 
earth  had  swallowed  up  that  monstrous  brood,  where 
now  green  grass  grew  over  their  bones. 

Black  were  the  brows  of  ^etes  as  Jason  came  to 
demand  the  Golden  Fleece,  since  he  had  fulfilled  the 
hard  task  set  him. 

"We  will  speak  of  that  to-morrow,"  answered  the 
king,  turning  away  sullenly  to  his  halls,  while  the 
Grecian  heroes,  proud  and  glad,  went  back  to  their 
ship. 

There,  as  they  sat  at  supper,  into  the  blaze  of  their 
fire  stole  Medea  with  breathless  haste  to  warn  them 
what  was  afoot.  Her  father,  she  disclosed,  was  secretly 
gathering  his  warriors,  and  meant  to  set  upon  them  next 
morning  with  overwhelming  might.  If  they  would  win 
the  Fleece,  it  must  be  now  or  never.  She  herself  would 
guide  Jason  to  the  grove  where  it  hung,  and  by  her 
spells  she  could  lull  its  fearsome  guardian  to  sleep. 
Then  he  must  seize  it  and  fly  before  the  sun  rose. 

This  witch -maiden  having  already  schooled  him  so 
well,  Jason  could  not  doubt  again  to  do  her  bidding. 
His  comrades  left  to  unmoor  the  Argo  and  make  all 
ready  for  instant  flight,  he  alone  let  Medea  guide  him 
to  the  sacred  shrine.  With  her  had  come  her  young 
brother  Absyrtus ;  and  he  too  followed,  trembling  for 
fear. 

At  dead  of  night  they  entered  the  gloomy  grove 
of  Ares,  where  at  once  they  heard  the  blood-curdling 


1 64  THE   ARGONAUTS 

hiss  of  that  watchful  serpent,  whose  coils  glittered  like 
lightning  about  the  tall  tree  on  which  hung  the  Golden 
Fleece,  turned  to  silver  in  the  moonlight.  Lightly  as 
they  trod  through  the  tangled  thicket,  before  they  came 
in  sight  by  flitting  moonbeams,  the  monster  had  raised 
his  fearsome  head  and  opened  his  poison-breathing  jaws. 
But  Medea  stole  up  to  him  with  a  soft,  low  chant  that 
charmed  his  ears,  and  she  sprinkled  his  eyes  with  a 
magical  potion  brewed  from  honey  and  herbs,  and  let 
its  drowsy  odour  rise  through  his  jaws,  till  soon  this 
potent  drug  filled  him  with  sleep.  The  serpent  stretched 
out  his  measureless  coils  to  lie  still  as  any  fallen  branch, 
overpowered  by  the  arts  of  the  murmuring  enchantress. 
When  his  hissing  had  changed  to  deathlike  silence,  Jason 
stepped  warily  over  the  scaly  bulk,  nor  did  that  fierce 
guardian  stir  as  he  laid  hands  on  the  Golden  Fleece, 
and  tore  it  down  from  where  it  had  hung  since  Phrixus 
nailed  it  there. 

"  Away ! "  was  now  the  word,  before  the  grisly  serpent 
should  awaken  from  the  spell  cast  upon  him.  But  as 
Jason  turned  exultingly  towards  his  ship,  Medea  held 
him  back,  and  her  song  broke  into  lamenting. 

"  Well  for  thee  that  canst  speed  homeward  to  friends 
and  honour!  But  woe  is  me,  poor  maiden,  whom  an 
angry  father  will  slay  when  he  knows  how  I  have  helped 
the  stranger  against  him  !  '* 

"  No  stranger  to  one  for  whom  thou  hast  played  such 
a  friendly  part ! "  quoth  Jason.  "  Fly  with  me,  Medea, 
as  my  bride,  without  whose  aid  I  might  have  gone  back 
dishonoured.  Thus  I  shall  bear  home  two  treasures  for 
one,  and  be  most  envied  among  the  sons  of  Greece. 
Speak,  wilt  thou  share  my  fortune.'^" 

She  answered  not,  but  a  maiden's  silence  may  be 
more  than  speech.     So,  bearing  up  the  Fleece  with  one 


THE   WINNING   OF   THE   FLEECE      165 

hand,  he  cast  the  other  around  her,  and  it  needed  no 
force  to  draw  away  the  daughter  of  Colchis,  who  might 
never  see  her  father's  land  again.  Side  by  side,  the  pair 
hastened  down  to  the  harbour;  and  the  weeping  boy 
Absyrtus  clung  to  his  sister,  knowing  not  where  she 
went. 

With  the  first  beam  of  dawn  they  came  to  the  ArgOy 
where  the  crew,  sitting  ready  at  their  oars,  hailed  the 
Golden  Fleece  with  a  shout  of  joy  to  waken  all  Colchis. 
Medea  and  her  brother  being  led  on  board,  and  the 
trophy  fastened  to  their  mast,  Jason  cut  the  cable  by  one 
stroke  of  his  sword,  then  away  went  the  Argo  like  a  horse 
let  loose,  soon  bounding  beyond  sight  of  that  eastern 
shore. 

IV.  Medea 

King  jEetes  was  early  astir,  arming  himself  and  his 
men  to  fall  upon  those  presumptuous  strangers  when 
they  should  come  to  demand  the  Fleece.  But  daybreak 
showed  him  the  Argo  flying  across  the  sea;  and  hot  was 
his  wrath  to  learn  that  she  had  carried  oflT  his  daughter 
and  his  son  along  with  the  chief  treasure  of  Colchis,  on 
(vhich  hung  his  own  life.  Quickly  making  ready  his 
fleet,  he  launched  forth  to  follow  with  so  many  ships 
that  they  covered  the  dark  water  like  a  flock  of  sea- 
gulls. 

The  Argonauts,  seeing  themselves  pursued,  hoisted 
every  sail  and  tugged  their  best  at  the  oars.  But  now 
it  was  ill  for  that  crew  that  they  had  lost  stout  Hercules 
as  well  as  other  strong  arms.  For  all  they  could  do,  the 
Colchian  ships  gained  upon  them  so  fast  that  one-half 
of  Jason's  men  had  to  stand  on  guard  grasping  spear 
and  shield,  while  the  other  half  rowed  with  all  their 
might. 


1 66  THE   ARGONAUTS 

"On,  on!"  ever  cried  Medea,  fearing  to  fall  into 
her  father's  hands ;  and  when  his  ship  drew  so  near  that 
she  could  see  his  stern  face  and  hear  his  threatening 
voice,  the  cruel  witch  did  a  deed  from  which  Jason 
might  know,  as  he  would  know  to  his  sorrow,  what  a 
fierce  and  ruthless  bride  he  had  stolen  away.  In  spite 
of  the  boy's  tears  and  entreaties,  she  hurled  her  brother 
Absyrtus  overboard ;  nay,  some  say  that  she  had  him 
torn  in  pieces  and  thrown  upon  the  waves  that  their 
father  might  be  delayed  by  gathering  up  the  dead  body 
for  pious  burial. 

So  it  was ;  and  thus  the  Argo  escaped  from  mortal 
foemen,  soon  to  be  hidden  in  a  cloud  of  thunder  with 
which  the  gods  proclaimed  their  wrath  against  that  hate- 
ful crime.  Henceforth,  for  long,  Jason's  crew  wandered 
as  under  a  curse,  abandoned  for  a  time,  it  would  seem, 
even  by  Hera's  favour,  when  the  king  of  heaven  frowned 
upon  them.  They  were  driven  astray  by  storms,  blinded 
in  mists,  and  tossed  on  many  a  strange  sea,  ere  the  guilt 
of  innocent  blood  could  be  washed  away  from  their  ship. 
Broken  and  befouled,  it  came  on  the  rocks  of  an  un- 
known land;  and  no  man  can  well  tell  how  and  where 
its  crew  made  their  way  onward.  Some  say  that  Medea 
had  enchantments  to  drive  it  over  the  land  as  on  the  sea. 

With  no  guide,  unless  it  were  that  marvellous  figure- 
head speaking  as  an  oracle,  the  Argonauts  travelled  now 
up  a  great  river  and  across  mountains  and  deserts,  their 
ship  dragged  with  them,  till  once  more  they  could  launch 
it  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  repaired  and  rigged  afresh 
for  another  voyage.  Still  trouble  and  danger  were  their 
penance,  even  when  by  sacrifices  and  holy  rites  they  had 
appeased  the  gods  for  the  death  of  Absyrtus.  Many 
strange  adventures  befell  them  among  the  same  perilous 
straits  and  giant-haunted  islands  as  were  afterwards  known 


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MEDEA  167 

to  the  wandering  Ulysses  ;  they  had  to  steer  past  Scylla 
and  Charybdis  and  the  luring  Sirens ;  then  but  for 
Medea's  crafty  spells  those  stout  hearts  might  never 
have  won  home  to  Greece.  They  were  wrecked  on  the 
desert  shore  of  Libya,  and  once  more  had  to  drag  their 
battered  Argo  over  its  barren  sands.  Launching  again, 
they  came  past  Crete,  to  find  this  island  guarded  by  the 
giant  Talus,  whose  monstrous  body  and  limbs  were  of 
red-hot  brass,  but  for  one  vulnerable  vein  in  his  heel. 
When  the  Argonauts  would  have  landed  for  food  and 
water,  from  the  cliffs  he  hurled  mighty  rocks  at  their 
vessel,  that  would  have  been  sunk  had  they  not  sheered 
off  in  haste.  But  Medea,  boldly  going  on  shore,  laid 
Talus  fast  asleep  by  her  magical  incantations,  then 
wounded  his  heel  of  flesh  to  spill  all  his  life-blood,  sc 
that  the  heat  went  out  of  his  huge  body,  and  it  rolled 
from  the  rocks,  crashing  and  splashing  into  the  sea. 

So  many  years  had  passed,  that  when  at  last  they 
saw  lolcos,  the  band  of  hopeful  youths  who  followed 
Jason  came  back  weary  and  toilworn  men,  grown  old 
before  their  time.  They  were  hardly  to  be  known  by 
their  friends,  as  they  stepped  on  shore  amid  cries  of 
amr^zement,  welcome,  and  triumph  at  the  sight  of  the 
Golden  Fleece  they  brought  as  proof  of  their  achieve- 
ment. 

Pelias  had  long  given  them  up  for  dead,  never  having 
thought  they  could  come  back  alive  with  such  a  trophy. 
He  himself  was  now  drawing  near  to  death,  yet  his 
palsied  hands  clung  to  the  ill-gotten  sceptre,  and,  for 
all  his  promise,  he  would  not  yield  up  the  kingdom  to 
Jason.  But  Medea  had  wiles  deeper  than  his  own.  He 
and  his  looked  askance  on  the  Colchian  witch,  till  she 
offered  by  her  magic  to  make  him  young  again,  as  she 
did  for  a  ram  which,  boiled  in  a  caldron  with  certain 


1 68  THE   ARGONAUTS 

herbs,  came  forth  under  strange  incantations  a  tender 
lamb.  Thereby  she  persuaded  the  daughters  of  Pelias 
to  do  the  like  with  their  old  father,  who  thus  perished 
miserably,  slain  by  the  hands  of  his  own  children.  But 
some  tell  how  -^son,  Jason's  father,  was  indeed  restored 
to  youth  by  the  Colchian  witch,  and  that  he  reigned  again 
at  lolcos. 

Jason  himself  had  no  mind  for  a  kingdom  gained 
by  so  wicked  arts ;  and  it  might  well  be  that  his  heart 
grew  cold  to  such  a  cruel  wife.  Once  more  wandering 
from  home,  he  fell  in  love  with  Glauce,  the  daughter 
of  Creon,  king  of  Corinth.  He  hoped  to  make  Medea 
content  with  his  second  marriage ;  but  not  yet  did  he 
know  the  stern  -  hearted  stranger  he  had  taken  to  his 
side.  Dissembling  her  hate,  the  enchantress  sent  to 
Glauce  a  rich  wedding  robe,  steeped  in  poison,  which 
was  the  death  of  that  woeful  bride,  vainly  striving  to 
tear  the  splendid  torment  from  her  flesh.  Then,  in  the 
madness  of  jealousy,  Medea  slew  her  three  young  sons 
with  her  own  hand ;  and  when  Jason  furiously  turned 
from  their  bodies  to  take  vengeance  on  the  unnatural 
mother,  he  saw  her  for  the  last  time  borne  away  through 
the  air  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  dragons. 

So  a  hero's  life  on  which  such  bright  suns  had  risen, 
was  to  set  in  dark  clouds  of  affliction.  Some  say  that 
in  his  frenzy  he  killed  himself  by  the  corpses  of  his 
children  and  of  his  murdered  bride.  But  others  tell 
how,  as  he  sat  by  the  seashore  beside  his  good  ship 
Argo^  thinking  sadly  on  the  glorious  days  when  she  had 
borne  him  to  Colchis,  the  rotten  figurehead  broke  off 
and  crushed  him :  so  his  protecting  goddess  sent  death 
as  the  best  gift  to  a  man  whose  work  was  done. 


PYRAMUS  AND   THISBE 

In  neighbour  houses  dwelt  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  he 
the  briskest  youth,  she  the  fairest  maid  of  Babylon. 
Long  had  their  eyes  spoken  what  from  childhood  grew  in 
their  hearts ;  but  the  fathers  of  both  frowned  upon  their 
wooing  and  forbade  them  to  meet,  as  they  could  not  be 
forbidden  to  love.  Nay,  love's  flame  burned  but  the 
hotter  for  being  covered  up,  till  it  lit  for  them  a  way  by 
which  they  could  at  least  promise  each  other  to  be  faithful 
to  death. 

The  two  houses  were  parted  by  a  wall  of  sun-baked 
clay,  in  which  the  lovers  found  a  chink  to  let  them  hear 
one  another's  voices  from  side  to  side  Daily,  when  all 
else  was  still,  through  this  chink  they  exchanged  sighs 
and  whispers,  and  spoke  of  kisses  that  could  not  meet. 
Often  they  complained  against  the  rough  wall  sundering 
each  from  the  other's  eyes ;  yet  again  were  they  fain  to 
be  thankful  for  the  cleft  where  lip  and  ear  were  pressed 
by  turns. 

So  for  a  time  they  nursed  their  secret  love,  yet  could 
not  bear  for  ever  to  be  denied  what  both  would  buy  at 
any  cost.  Through  the  wall  a  night  was  fixed  between 
them  to  give  their  guardians  the  slip :  singly  and  by 
separate  ways,  they  should  steal  from  home,  to  meet  at 
the  tomb  of  Ninus,  that  known  landmark  in  the  woods 
outside  the  city ;  then  never  more  would  they  consent 
to  be  parted. 

So  was   agreed,  and  so  was  done.      Thisbe,  in   her 


I70  PYRAMUS  AND   THISBE 

impatience,  set  out  before  the  hour.  With  her  veil 
wrapped  close  about  her,  slinking  hurriedly  through  the 
streets  in  dread  of  every  shadow,  she  first  reached  the 
place  of  meeting,  where  the  moonlight  showed  a  foun- 
tain shining  beside  the  tomb,  and  over  it  hung  a  tree 
loaded  with  white  mulberries.  She  looked  round  for 
Pyramus,  but  he  came  not  yet  by  the  silvered  glades 
of  the  wood.  She  bent  her  head  to  catch  the  tread 
of  his  footstep  ;  then  what  horrid  sound  of  a  sudden 
broke  upon  her  ears,  echoed  by  a  shriek  of  womanish 
terror ! 

It  was  a  roaring  lioness  that  bounded  out  of  the 
thicket  where  it  had  been  gorging  its  prey.  The  startled 
maiden  did  not  wait  to  see  its  fiery  eyes  and  its  dripping 
jaws.  Throwing  off  the  long  veil  that  hindered  her 
flight,  with  screams  she  ran  wildly  through  the  trees, 
and  never  stopped  till  she  could  hide  her  beating  heart 
and  trembling  limbs  in  a  dark  cavern  which  opened  a 
refuge. 

The  full-fed  lioness  did  not  care  to  give  chase. 
But  that  savage  creature  fell  upon  Thisbe's  white  veil, 
left  on  the  grass,  befouling  and  tearing  the  fine  stuff 
with  blood-stained  fangs,  before  it  passed  on  to  quench 
its  thirst  at  the  fountain,  then  betook  itself  to  its  hidden 
lair  among  the  rocks. 

As  he  hastily  drew  near  from  the  city,  Pyramus 
had  heard  the  fierce  roaring  and  the  cry  of  that  voice 
he  knew  so  well.  Drawing  his  sword,  he  sped  forward 
to  the  tomb,  where  now  all  was  still. 

"Thisbe!"  he  murmured;  "Thisbe!"  he  exclaimed. 
But  no  answer  came,  and  no  living  form  moved  under 
the  moonlight. 

Soon,  to  his  consternation,  he  saw  the  ground  freshly 
marked  by  a  lion's  claw').     And  there,  beside  the  foun- 


PYRAMUS   AND   THISBE  171 

tain,  lay  Thisbe's  veil,  all  stained  and  torn.  Horrified 
to  frenzy,  he  made  no  doubt  that  the  lion  had  borne 
away  his  beloved.  Rashly  he  searched  the  dark  wood, 
calling  on  the  fierce  beast  to  seize  him  for  its  prey  rather 
than  that  helpless  maid.  Bitterly  reproaching  himself  for 
not  having  been  first  at  the  meeting-place,  he  came  back 
to  shower  tears  and  kisses  on  the  veil  of  her  he  took  for 
dead. 

"Let  me  not  live,  after  leading  thee  Into  such  peril!" 
he  cried.  "At  least  our  hearts'  blood  may  be  mingled 
together,  now  we  are  free  to  meet  in  death ! " 

With  desperate  hand  he  drove  the  sword  deep  into 
his  breast,  and  fell  expiring  at  the  foot  of  the  mulberry 
tree.  His  blood  gushed  out  upon  the  roots,  that  sucked 
it  up  to  turn  the  white  berries  into  dark  purple,  as  if  the 
tree  itself  mourned  for  those  unhappy  lovers. 

Day  was  breaking  when  Thisbe  found  courage  to 
come  forth  from  her  hiding-place,  and,  starting  at  every 
crackle  of  a  twig  beneath  her  feet,  made  her  way  back 
to  the  tomb  where  she  hoped  to  be  safe  beside  the  arm 
of  Pyramus.  All  her  fear  now  was  he  might  think  she 
had  played  him  false.  Her  heart  throbbed  with  joy  as 
she  saw  him  lying  beneath  that  tree  as  if  asleep ;  but 
misgiving  fell  upon  her  with  the  sight  of  the  white 
mulberries  turned  black,  and  she  stooped  down  to  know 
him  writhing  In  his  death-throes  upon  her  veil  wet  with 
his  blood. 

"  Pyramus  1 "  she  cried  wildly,  raising  his  head. 
"  Speak  to  me  1     Say  this  is  but  an  ugly  dream  ! " 

At  her  voice  he  opened  his  dim  eyes,  he  tried  to 
smile  and  speak,  but  that  effort  was  his  last. 

When  no  answer  came,  she  tore  her  hair,  she  filled 
the  wood  with  lamentations,  she  mingled  her  tears  with 
his  blood,  she  laboured  to  kiss  him  back  into  life;  and 


172  PYRAMUS   AND   THISBE 

when  all  was  in  vain,  she  saw  the  sword  sheathed  in  his 
breast. 

"Death,  too,  sought  to  part  us,  but  that  neither 
death  nor  the  living  can  do.  Ah !  cruel  parents,  at 
least  ye  will  not  grudge  us  to  rest  for  ever  side  by  side. 
And  thou,  oh!  pitying  tree,  stand  ever  with  black  berries 
as  a  monument  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe." 

With  these  words  she  drew  the  blade  from  her 
lover's  wound  and  plunged  it,  still  warm,  into  her  own 
heart.  Thus  were  they  found  locked  together  under 
that  mournful  tree ;  then  the  gods  moved  their  parents 
to  grant  'Thisbe's  last  prayer.  They  lay  side  by  side 
on  the  funeral  pyre ;  and  their  ashes  were  mingled  in 
the  same  urn. 

"  Here  may  ye  se,  what  lover  so  he  be, 
A  woman  dare  and  can  as  well  as  he  ** 


ION 

Cecrops,  Pandion,  and  Erechtheus  were  the  first 
kings  of  Athens,  under  whom  it  chose  Pallas  for  its 
guardian  deity.  This  race  was  said  to  have  sprung 
from  the  earth,  so  deep  in  the  past  darkness,  that  men 
knew  of  them  no  more  than  their  names,  nor  even 
clearly  how  they  stood  to  each  other  in  descent.  But 
there  came  a  time  when  their  children  seemed  like  to 
die  out.  For  Erechtheus  had  only  daughters,  and  all 
but  one  fell  victims  to  Poseidon,  who  bore  a  grudge 
against  the  city  that  had  preferred  Athene  to  himself. 

The  one  survivor  was  Creusa,  who  passed  for  child- 
less. But  she  in  secret  had  been  wooed  by  Apollo,  and 
to  him  bore  a  son,  whom,  dreading  her  father's  wrath, 
she  had  abandoned,  hidden  in  a  dark  cave,  where  she 
laid  him  swaddled  in  a  basket,  thus  trusted  to  the  pro- 
tection of  Apollo.  Herself  deserted  by  that  faithless 
celestial  spouse,  in  time  she  was  openly  wedded  to 
Xuthus,  a  neighbour  prince  who  had  done  service  to 
Athens  in  war,  and  thus  seemed  worthy  to  be  its  king. 
Years  went  by  without  an  heir  being  born;  then  often 
Creusa  thought  wistfully  of  that  babe  she  had  left  to 
die,  as  seemed  like,  for  she  knew  not  what  had  become 
of  him. 

But  the  child  was  not  dead.  Apollo  felt  more  com- 
passion for  his  helpless  offspring  than  for  the  betrayed 
mother;  and  by  the  hands  of  Hermes  he  had  it  carried 
to  Delphi  to  be  laid  as  a  suppliant  on  the  steps  of  his 

173 


174  ION 

own  temple.  There  It  was  found  by  the  priestess,  who 
adopted  and  reared  this  boy  under  the  name  of  Ion. 
He  grew  up  dedicated  to  the  service  of  the  temple, 
sprinkling  its  pavements,  sweeping  them  with  laurel 
branches,  and  scaring  away  birds  from  the  consecrated 
offerings.  Then  early  he  showed  such  piety  and  duti- 
fulness  as  to  endear  him  to  his  foster-mother,  not  less 
than  did  his  winsome  looks  and  modest  bearing. 

When  Ion  had  grown  to  his  full  stature,  there  came 
to  the  temple  a  train  from  Athens,  its  leaders  no  other 
than  Xuthus  and  Creusa,  seeking  at  the  oracle  some 
remedy  for  their  childless  lot.  Creusa  stood  without, 
and  talked  with  that  fair-faced  acolyte,  whose  voice  and 
looks  so  stirred  her  heart  that  fain  she  would  have 
learned  how  he  had  been  brought  up  in  the  god's  ser- 
vice. But  he  knew  nought  of  his  origin,  and  as  yet 
she  could  not  guess  that  he  was  her  lost  child.  Mean- 
while, Xuthus  had  entered  the  inner  shrine,  where, 
putting  his  case  to  the  inspired  priestess,  he  was  bidden 
take  for  his  own  son  the  first  he  should  meet  on  leaving 
the  temple.  He  rushed  out,  then  his  eyes  fell  upon 
Ion,  whom  he  made  haste  to  embrace,  hailing  so  goodly 
a  stripling  as  a  welcome  heir  given  to  his  prayers. 

But  Creusa  did  not  share  her  husband's  joy.  Now 
she  looked  askance  on  Ion,  her  mind  darkened  by  sus- 
picion that  this  temple  sweeper  must  be  a  natural  son 
of  Xuthus,  whom  he  had  planned  with  the  priestess  to 
pass  off  on  her  as  a  gift  of  the  god.  So  strong  was  her 
mistrust  that  she  began  to  hate  the  youth  to  whom  at 
first  her  heart  had  gone  out  kindly.  She  took  counsel 
with  an  old  servant  of  her  house,  a  man  to  stick  at 
nothing  for  his  mistress ;  and  he  engaged  to  poison 
Ion  at  a  feast  with  which  the  king  would  have  cele- 
brated his  adoption.     A  deadly  poison  the  queen  had 


ION  175 

about  her  In  two  drops  of  the  Gorgon's  blood  given 
to  her  father  by  Pallas. 

Ion,  at  first  troubled  and  amazed  by  the  embraces 
of  one  he  took  for  a  madman,  had  come  to  understand 
that  in  some  sort  he  must  look  on  himself  as  the  king's 
son.  When  the  wine-cups  were  filled  at  the  banquet, 
Creusa's  servant,  as  if  to  do  him  honour,  handed  to 
the  new-made  heir  a  rich  golden  bowl  in  which  he  had 
mingled  one  drop  of  the  Gorgon's  fatal  blood.  Then, 
before  drinking,  the  pious  youth  poured  on  the  ground 
part  of  the  costly  wine  as  libation  to  his  guardian  god. 
A  flock  of  sacred  pigeons  were  ever  fluttering  about  the 
precincts  of  the  temple,  and  now  one  of  them  lighted 
down  to  taste  this  offering.  No  sooner  was  its  beak  wet 
by  the  envenomed  wine  than  it  beat  its  wings  with 
a  shriek  of  pain  that  drew  all  eyes  to  see  it  quivering 
in  deadly  convulsions. 

At  this  sight  Ion  flung  down  the  cup,  tearing  his 
garments  and  indignantly  demanding  who  sought  to  take 
his  life.  He  turned  on  the  old  man  that  had  offered 
him  the  poisoned  draught ;  then  Creusa's  servant,  seized 
by  the  other  guests,  under  wrathful  threats  confessed 
that  he  had  done  this  at  her  bidding.  A  cry  arose 
against  the  stranger  woman ;  and  the  elders  of  Delphi 
declared  that  she  must  be  stoned  to  death  as  having 
planned  to  violate  the  sanctity  of  the  temple  by  making 
away  with  its  innocent  minister. 

When  she  heard  how  the  executioners  were  in  search 
of  her,  Creusa  fled  as  a  suppliant  to  Apollo's  temple,  and, 
crouched  at  the  altar,  took  sanctuary  amidst  a  crowd 
clamouring  for  her  blood.  Then  as  Ion  stood  plying 
her  with  reproaches  and  questions  why  she  had  conceived 
such  wicked  Intent  against  him  who  had  never  done  her 
wrong,  from  the  shrine  burst  forth  the  Pythia,  for  once 


176  ION 

deserting  her  tripod  to  speak  openly  before  all.  Amid 
reverent  silence  she  disclosed  the  secret  of  her  nursling 
Ion  being  laid  on  the  steps  of  the  temple,  a  nameless  babe, 
and  brought  forth  the  basket  in  which  she  had  found 
him. 

Creusa's  heart  began  to  beat,  as  she  heard  how  this 
boy  was  of  the  same  age  as  her  own  child ;  and  she 
uttered  a  cry  at  the  sight  of  the  swaddling  clothes  she 
had  wrapped  about  him  years  ago.  The  recognition 
was  complete,  when  on  these  garments  she  traced  patterns 
worked  by  her  own  hands.  Ion,  whom  in  jealous  anger 
she  would  have  murdered,  could  be  no  other  than  her 
long-lost  son. 

The  youth  proved  slower  to  believe  that  this  must 
be  his  mother ;  but  the  proofs  were  clear ;  and  with 
proud  astonishment  he  heard  how  his  father  was  Apollo 
himself.  Thus  at  last  mother  and  son  came  to  each 
other's  knowledge ;  and  all  doubt  was  ended  by  an 
appearance  of  Pallas  sent  to  speak  for  her  brother  god, 
who  might  well  shame  to  tell  his  own  tale.  Bidding 
Ion  go  to  Athens  and  take  up  the  heritage  of  its  kings, 
the  goddess  foretold  that  he  should  be  the  father  of  a 
widespread  people  known  after  him  as  lonians ;  and  to 
Xuthus  and  Creusa  she  promised  another  son  named 
Dorus,  from  whom  would  spring  the  Dorian  race.  And 
so  it  came  to  pass,  if  poets  tell  true. 


I 


THESEUS 

-^geus,  the  old  king  of  Athens,  was  believed  to  have 
no  children,  so  the  sons  of  his  brother  Pallas,  known  as 
the  Pallantids,  looked  to  seize  the  throne  on  his  death. 
But  years  ago,  ^geus  had  made  a  secret  marriage  with 
j^thra,  daughter  of  Pittheus,  king  of  Trcezen,  moved 
thereto  by  an  oracle  that  also  promised  him  from  that 
union  a  son  destined  to  rare  renown.  Yet  soon  he  left 
poor  ^thra,  taking  leave  of  her  at  a  huge  rock  on  the 
seashore  which  he  rolled  away  to  hide  beneath  it  his 
sword  and  his  sandals. 

"Should  the  gods  grant  us  a  son,"  he  charged  her, 
"let  him  not  know  his  father  till  he  be  strong  enough 
to  move  this  stone ;  then  let  him  seek  me  out  at  Athens, 
bearing  the  sword  and  sandals  as  tokens." 

In  due  time  ^thra  bore  a  son  named  Theseus,  whom 
she  kept  in  ignorance  of  his  race,  and  among  her  own 
people  he  passed  as  being  the  child  of  Poseidon,  to  whom 
special  reverence  was  paid  at  this  seaport  of  Argolis. 
The  boy,  indeed,  grew  up  so  lustily  that  he  might  well 
be  thought  of  more  than  mortal  birth.  While  he  was 
still  a  child,  Hercules  visited  Trcezen,  who  was  his  kins- 
man by  the  mother's  side;  and  the  sight  of  such  a  famous 
champion  and  the  tales  of  his  exploits  filled  young 
Theseus  with  longing  for  the  like  adventures.  While 
other  children  shrank  from  the  lion's  skin  the  hero  wore, 
he  flew  upon  it  with  his  little  sword,  taking  this  for  a 
lion  indeed,  when  one  day  Hercules  had  thrown  it  off 


178  THESEUS 

his  brawny  limbs.  All  through  his  youth  Theseus  kept 
that  hero  before  him  as  pattern  of  what  he  would  be ; 
then  in  after-life  he  held  it  an  honour  to  be  friend  and 
companion  of  Hercules. 

Deserted  by  her  husband,  the  mother's  comfort  was 
in  a  son  known  as  the  stoutest  and  boldest  lad  in  the 
land,  prudent,  too,  and  trustworthy  beyond  his  years. 
For  all  that  Theseus  was  loved  by  ^thra,  she  did  not 
forget  how  the  time  for  their  parting  drew  on.  When 
he  was  full  grown,  she  took  him  to  the  rock  by  the  shore 
and  bid  him  roll  it  away,  as  he  did  with  ease,  to  find 
beneath  it  the  sword  and  sandals  hidden  here  by  ^geus. 
Then  first  she  told  him  his  true  father's  name,  and  that 
he  must  seek  out  the  king  at  Athens,  taking  the  sword 
and  sandals  as  tokens  of  his  birth. 

Full  of  pride  to  know  himself  the  son  of  such  a  king, 
and  of  eagerness  to  see  the  world,  Theseus  made  light 
of  his  old  grandfather's  counsel  that  he  should  go  to 
Athens  by  sea.  Greece  in  those  days  had  sore  trouble 
from  tyrants,  robbers,  and  wild  monsters ;  and  the 
youth's  heart  was  set  upon  ridding  the  country  of  pests 
such  as  he  might  expect  to  meet  on  his  way  by  land. 

"  So  shall  I  be  like  Hercules,"  he  told  his  anxious 
mother,  "  and  come  more  welcome  to  my  father  if  I 
bring  his  sandals  worn  by  travel  and  his  sword  stained 
with  blood." 

The  mother  sighed,  but  let  him  take  his  way.  He 
would  not  even  choose  the  easiest  road,  but  went  up 
into  the  mountains  behind  Epidaurus  on  the  east  coast 
of  Argolis.  There  he  had  not  gone  far,  when  out  of  a 
wood  rushed  the  robber  Periphetes,  brandishing  a  huge 
club  and  calling  on  him  to  stand.  Theseus  stood  firm, 
sword  in  hand,  and  when  they  closed  in  hot  tussle,  that 
club-bearer  for  once  met  his  match.     The  youth  nimbly 


THESEUS  179 

avoided  every  crushing  blow,  drove  his  sword  through 
the  robber's  heart,  then  went  forward  bearing  the  club 
of  Periphetes  and  his  bearskin  cloak  as  trophies. 

With  this  cloak  he  felt  himself  like  his  model 
Hercules ;  and  before  long  it  served  him  well,  when  he 
came  to  the  isthmus  of  Corinth,  haunted  by  a  wretch 
named  Sinis,  of  whom  men  spoke  with  dread  as  the 
"pine-bender",  for  it  was  his  wont  to  slay  what  unfor- 
tunates fell  into  his  hands  after  a  cruel  manner :  bend- 
ing down  two  pines  he  would  fasten  the  man  between 
them,  and  let  them  spring  up  to  tear  his  members 
asunder.  But  when  he  would  have  so  dealt  with 
Theseus  the  young  hero  felled  him  to  the  ground, 
bound  him  with  his  own  cords,  and  let  his  bones  be  shot 
into  the  air  to  feed  the  kites. 

Before  leaving  the  isthmus,  Theseus  turned  aside  to 
hunt  down  a  fierce  wild  sow  that  ravaged  the  fields  and 
had  been  the  death  of  all  other  hunters.  The  country 
people,  glad  to  be  rid  of  this  pest,  warned  him  of  another 
foe  upon  his  way.  Going  from  Corinth  to  Megara,  on 
a  narrow  ledge  of  rock  above  the  shore  he  would  pass 
the  giant  Sceiron,  whose  humour  was  to  bid  wayfarers 
wash  his  feet,  and  to  kick  them  over  into  the  sea  while 
so  obeying  him.  To  hear  of  such  a  peril  was  enough 
for  Theseus,  who  now  would  not  be  persuaded  to  take 
any  road  but  this.  He  went  to  meet  that  churlish  giant, 
and,  when  called  on  to  wash  his  feet,  hurled  him  over 
the  steep  into  the  sea,  to  be  changed  into  a  rock  washed 
for  ever  by  the  waves. 

Next  he  came  to  Eleusis,  where  the  people,  pitying 
so  gallant  a  youth,  would  have  had  him  slink  past  with- 
out being  seen  by  their  tyrant  Cercyon,  who,  trusting  in 
his  mighty  bones  and  sinews,  challenged  every  stranger 
to  wrestle  with  him,  and  none  had  yet  come  alive  out 


i8o  THESEUS 

of  his  clutch.  But  Theseus  was  not  one  to  pass  by  such 
an  adversary.  He  went  up  to  the  palace,  ate  and  drank 
with  the  king,  and  willingly  stripped  for  a  struggle  in 
which  the  insolent  Cercyon  fell  never  to  rise  again;  then 
the  citizens,  delivered  from  that  oppressor,  would  have 
had  Theseus  stay  with  them  as  their  king. 

But  Theseus  would  not  tarry,  hastening  on  to 
Athens  past  the  den  of  another  monstrous  evildoer,  to 
fall  in  with  whom  he  was  all  the  readier  for  the  warn- 
ings given  him.  This  was  Procrustes,  or  the  "  Stretcher", 
who  would  lie  in  wait  for  harmless  travellers  and  with 
friendly  words  lure  them  to  his  dwelling  as  guests,  there 
to  divert  himself  upon  them  with  a  cruel  device.  He 
had  two  beds,  one  over  long,  the  other  too  short  for  a 
grown  man's  body.  Were  the  stranger  short  of  stature, 
this  giant's  way  was  to  put  him  into  the  longer  bed  and 
stretch  out  his  limbs  to  fill  it ;  but  if  tall,  he  was  laid  on 
the  smaller  one  and  his  legs  were  cut  down  till  he  fitted 
that. 

"  Such  a  one  were  well  brought  to  an  end  by  his  own 
tricks,"  quoth  Theseus  to  himself,  when,  as  his  wont  was, 
Procrustes  came  out  oflFering  hospitality  to  this  wayfarer. 

The  youth,  feigning  to  be  deceived,  cheerfully  turned 
aside  with  him,  then  staggering  and  gaping  as  if  he  were 
tired  out,  let  himself  be  led  into  the  torture  chamber. 

"  Friend,"  chuckled  the  giant,  "  you  see  how  it  is  1 
This  other  bed  of  mine  is  too  short  for  a  youth  of  your 
inches;  yet  can  I  soon  make  that  right." 

But  as  he  would  have  laid  Theseus  on  the  shorter 
bed,  suddenly  he  found  himself  caught  in  a  grasp  of 
iron,  flung  off  his  feet,  thrown  down  and  bound  for  the 
stranger  to  hack  and  hew  him  with  his  own  axe,  and 
so  he  came  to  the  miserable  death  he  had  wrought  on 
many  another. 


THESEUS  i8i 

This  was  the  hero's  last  exploit  on  his  way  to  Athens. 
On  the  banks  of  the  Cephissus,  he  next  fell  in  with 
friendly  men,  who  refreshed  him  after  his  toils,  washed 
him  clear  of  blood  and  dust,  and  sent  him  on  with  good 
wishes,  nor  without  pious  rites  and  sacrifices  to  purify 
him  if  he  had  done  aught  amiss  on  that  adventurous 
journey. 

Yet  a  deadlier  danger  than  all  awaited  him  when  at 
last  he  came  to  his  father's  home.  iEgeus,  wellnigh  in 
his  dotage,  was  no  longer  master  at  Athens.  Treason 
and  rebellion  filled  the  streets  of  the  city,  where  his 
nephews  the  Pallantids  took  on  themselves  to  rule  with 
insolent  pride,  while  in  his  palace  the  old  king  had 
fallen  under  the  power  of  Medea,  that  wicked  witch- 
woman,  who  lighted  here  after  flying  from  Jason  at 
Corinth.  By  her  magic  arts  she  had  foreseen  the  coming 
of  Theseus ;  and  she  knew  at  once  who  must  be  the 
noble  youth  that  now  presented  himself  in  the  king's 
hall.  It  was  easy  for  her  to  make  the  feeble  old  man 
take  this  for  some  secret  foe  bent  on  his  harm.  Then 
the  enchantress  mixed  poison  in  a  bowl  of  wine,  which 
she  offered  the  stranger  as  welcome,  whispering  to 
^geus  that  thus  they  should  be  surely  rid  of  him. 

But  before  Theseus  drank,  he  drew  forth  the  sword 
glittering  in  his  father's  sight,  not  so  dim  but  that 
-^geus  remembered  it  as  his  own;  and  his  dull  eyes 
grew  bright  as  he  guessed  this  goodly  young  man  for 
his  long-forgotten  son.  Coming  to  himself,  he  dashed 
the  poisoned  drink  on  the  ground ;  and  in  a  moment 
father  and  son  were  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  cunning  witch-queen  might  well  scowl  at  their 
happy  meeting.  She  felt  that  her  power  over  the  doting 
king  was  gone;  and  in  her  dragon-chariot  she  fled  away 
from  Greece  for  ever.     Theseus,  hailed  as  his  father's 


1 82  THESEUS 

heir,  was  soon  able  to  quell  the  disorders  of  the  king- 
dom. He  drove  out  of  Athens  the  insolent  Pallantids, 
who  already  bore  themselves  as  kings ;  and,  young  as  he 
was,  he  showed  himself  so  worthy  that  all  the  citizens 
were  content  to  obey  a  ruler  blessed  with  such  a  son 
to  uphold  him.  The  first  service  he  did  to  his  new 
country  was  to  rid  it  of  the  fierce  bull  of  Marathon,  the 
dread  of  which  had  long  kept  the  husbandmen  from  till- 
ing their  lands.  Many  a  hunter  had  sought  that  monster 
to  his  own  hurt,  before  Theseus,  setting  out  alone  against 
it,  brought  the  bull  alive  from  its  lair,  led  it  as  a  show 
through  the  streets,  and  offered  it  as  a  sacrifice  to  the 
gods  that  had  given  him  such  strength  and  valour. 

Ere  long,  the  heir  of  -/^geus  had  the  chance  to  do 
a  greater  deed  for  Athens,  a  deed  never  to  be  forgotten 
in  song  and  history.  Years  before,  on  Athenian  ground 
had  been  treacherously  slain  Androgeos,  son  of  the  mighty 
Minos,  king  of  Crete.  Some  say  that  this  crime  sprang 
from  jealousy,  since  the  Cretan  prince  had  beaten  the 
athletes  of  the  country  in  their  own  games.  The  father, 
to  avenge  his  blood,  had  made  war  on  Athens,  to  which 
he  granted  peace  at  the  price  of  a  sore  tribute.  Every 
nine  years,  seven  of  its  finest  youths  and  fairest  maidens 
must  be  sent  to  Crete,  there  to  be  delivered  to  the 
Minotaur,  a  fearsome  creature,  half-beast  and  half-man, 
by  which  they  were  savagely  devoured.  Now,  for  the 
third  time,  this  tribute  had  to  be  paid,  the  victims  chosen 
by  lot  among  the  noblest  families  of  the  city.  But  when 
it  came  to  drawing  lots,  Theseus  stood  forth  to  offer 
himself  freely. 

"  The  lot  falls  first  on  me,  as  son  of  your  king ! " 
he  declared.  "  I  will  head  the  tribute  band,  and  let 
the  Minotaur  taste  my  sword  first  of  all,  that  has  slain 
as  fierce  monsters." 


THESEUS  183 

His  generous  devotion  filled  the  citizens  with  grati- 
tude, but  the  old  king  was  loath  to  risk  his  only  son 
on  such  a  perilous  chance.  In  vain  he  begged  Theseus 
to  hold  back ;  the  hero's  spirit  was  keen  and  steadfast 
as  his  sword.  So  on  the  appointed  day,  he  embarked 
for  Crete  among  the  tale  of  luckless  youths  and  maidens, 
followed  by  the  prayers  of  their  woeful  parents.  His 
own  father,  hardly  hoping  to  see  him  again,  made  him 
promise  one  thing.  The  ship  that  bore  this  doomed 
band  was  wafted  by  black  sails  in  sign  of  mourning;  but 
if  it  should  be  their  lot  to  come  back  safe,  they  were  to 
hoist  a  white  sail,  that  not  an  hour  should  be  lost  in 
showing  good  news  to  those  on  the  watch  for  their 
return. 

With  winds  but  too  fair  for  so  forlorn  an  errand, 
the  ship  came  safe  to  the  city  of  Minos.  There  he  kept 
the  Minotaur  in  his  famous  labyrinth,  a  maze  of  wind- 
ing passages  in  the  rock,  made  for  him  by  Daedalus,  that 
cunning  artificer  of  old,  who,  when  he  had  served  the 
Cretan  king  long  and  well,  offended  him  to  such  wrath, 
that  with  his  young  son  Icarus  he  had  needs  fly  away 
to  Sicily.  The  crafty  Daedalus  knew  how  to  fit  wings 
to  their  shoulders,  fastened  by  wax;  and  thus  they  sped 
over  the  sea,  the  father  coming  safe  to  land,  but  when 
heedless  Icarus  flew  too  near  the  sun,  the  wax  melted, 
and,  losing  his  wings,  he  fell  into  a  sea  thenceforth 
called  the  Icarian,  after  his  name.  His  body  was  wafted 
far  away  over  the  waves,  to  be  in  time  drawn  ashore  by 
Hercules,  who  gave  it  burial  on  an  island  also  named 
from  him,  Icaria.  Daedalus,  grateful  for  this  friendly 
service,  fashioned  and  set  up  at  Pisa  a  statue  of  the  hero 
so  lifelike,  that  when  Hercules  saw  it  in  the  twilight, 
he  took  it  for  a  threatening  foe  and  dashed  it  to  pieces 
with  a  stone.     Such  an  artist  was  that  Daedalus  whose 


1 84  THESEUS 

name  became  a  proverb  for  skill;  and  the  world  knew 
no  other  such  work  as  he  left  behind  him  in  the  Cretan 
labyrinth. 

Minos  might  well  be  proud  to  see  the  prince  of 
Athens  offer  himself  to  glut  his  revenge;  yet  even  his 
stern  heart  took  pity  on  this  noble  youth,  so  boldly 
claiming  as  a  right  to  be  first  to  face  the  ravenous 
monster. 

"  Bethink  thee,  ere  it  be  too  late,"  he  warned 
Theseus.  "  Naked  and  alone,  thou  must  seek  out  the 
Minotaur,  that  has  torn  in  pieces  every  victim  turned 
into  its  haunt.  And  even  couldst  thou  escape  such  an 
enemy,  no  stranger,  venturing  within  the  labyrinth,  has 
ever  been  able  to  find  his  way  out  of  its  dark  secrets." 

"So  be  it,  if  so  it  must  be!"  answered  Theseus;  and 
that  night  was  set  for  his  dreadful  ordeal. 

But  not  in  vain  had  the  hero,  at  the  bidding  of  an 
oracle,  invoked  for  his  enterprise  the  protection  of  Aphro- 
dite, goddess  of  love.  One  friend  he  had  in  Crete,  before 
ever  a  word  passed  between  them.  Ariadne,  daughter 
of  King  Minos,  looked  with  kind  eyes  on  this  gallant 
stranger,  and  her  heart  was  hot  to  save  him  from  so 
miserable  death.  Seeking  him  out  by  stealth,  she  whis- 
pered good  cheer  and  counsel  in  his  ear,  giving  him  a 
clue  of  thread  which  he  should  unroll  as  he  passed  on 
into  the  labyrinth's  windings,  then,  his  task  done,  he 
might  follow  that  helpful  clue  till  it  brought  him  back 
to  the  free  air.  Moreover,  she  put  into  his  hand  a  magic 
sword,  with  which,  and  with  none  other,  the  Minotauf 
might  be  slain.  And,  if  he  came  out  safe,  she  made  him 
promise  to  carry  her  away  from  her  father's  anger,  as 
Theseus  willingly  agreed,  when  the  very  favour  of  so 
bright  eyes  seemed  a  charm  to  bring  him  safe  through 
all  dangers. 


THESEUS  185 

Thus  equipped  and  heartened,  he  took  his  way  alone 
into  the  mouth  of  the  labyrinth,  leaving  the  youths  and 
maidens,  his  comrades,  to  await  what  should  befall  him. 
With  tearful  eyes  they  saw  him  swallowed  up  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  heard  his  steps  die  away  within.  Then  all  was 
silence,  till  there  burst  forth  an  awful  roar  echoing  through 
those  hollow  windings,  to  show  how  the  Minotaur  was 
aware  of  his  foe.  The  time  seemed  long  while  fear- 
fully they  stood  listening  to  a  distant  din  of  bellowing 
and  clattering  and  gnashing,  as  if  a  thunderstorm  were 
pent  up  in  the  cavern's  inmost  penetralia.  Again,  all 
fell  silent ;  and,  quaking  at  the  knees,  his  companions 
hardly  hoped  to  see  their  leader  come  back  from  that 
chill  gloom  that  in  turn  should  be  their  own  grave.  But 
what  was  their  joy  at  last  to  catch  his  voice  raised  in 
triumph,  then  he  strode  forth  into  the  starlight,  his 
sword  dripping  with  blood! 

The  hero  threw  himself  on  Ariadne's  neck  to  thank 
her  for  the  aid  without  which  he  would  never  have  over- 
come that  monster,  nor  made  his  way  out  of  its  darksome 
lair.  But  she  bid  him  lose  no  moment  in  hastening 
beyond  the  power  of  her  father  and  all  his  men.  The 
watchmen  she  had  made  heavy-headed  after  draughts 
of  strong  wine ;  and  now,  by  her  counsel,  the  crew  of 
Theseus  bored  holes  in  the  Cretan  ships  that  they  might 
be  in  no  state  to  pursue.  This  done,  taking  Ariadne 
with  them,  the  Athenians  got  on  board  their  own  vessel, 
and  had  hoisted  sail  before  Minos  awoke  to  see  them 
already  far  at  sea. 

And  now  the  pair  who  had  loved  each  other  at  first 
sight  would  fain  have  been  wedded;  but  their  love  went 
amiss.  For  Theseus  became  warned  in  a  dream  that 
his  Ariadne  was  destined  as  the  bride  of  no  mortal  man, 
but  of  a  god.     So  he  hardened  his  heart  to  put  her  ashore 

(C288)  8 


1 86  THESEUS 

on  the  island  of  Naxos,  and  there  left  her  asleep  by  the 
strand,  sailing  away  without  a  word  of  farewell.  Some 
say  that  when  poor  Ariadne  awoke  to  know  herself  thus 
deserted,  she  fell  into  such  despair  that  she  saw  nothing 
for  it  but  to  take  her  own  life.  But  the  tale  as  told  by 
others  is  that  on  Naxos  she  was  found  by  Bacchus,  who 
kissed  away  her  tears  and  made  her  his  wife,  and  so  she 
came  to  shine  among  the  stars.^ 

However  the  truth  be,  Theseus  held  on  his  course 
with  a  heavy  heart,  the  joy  of  victory  all  overcast  for  him 
by  Ariadne's  loss.  And  in  that  sorrow  he  forgot  his 
father's  charge  to  hoist  a  white  sail  if  he  should  come 
back  safe.  Day  after  day,  when  the  ship  might  be 
expected,  old  -^geus  sat  upon  a  high  point,  straining 
his  weak  eyes  on  watch  for  her  return.  At  last  she  came 
in  sight,  and  lo!  the  sails  were  black  as  death.  The  king 
gave  up  his  son  for  lost.  With  a  cry  of  despair  he  flung 
himself  over  a  cliff  into  the  waves,  still  known  by  his 
name  as  the  JEgea.n  Sea. 

So  mournful  news  met  Theseus  when  he  sailed  into 
the  harbour  in  triumph,  all  Athens  pressing  down  to 
learn  how  it  had  fared  with  him.  With  thanksgiving 
to  the  gods  for  their  speeding,  he  had  to  mingle  the 
funeral  rites  of  his  father ;  and  never  could  the  son 
pardon  himself  that  fatal  forgetfulness  that  made  him 
king  of  Athens. 

As  king,  Theseus  ruled  wisely  and  well,  so  that  in  his 
reign  Athens  first  began  to  grow  great.  Many  more 
adventurous   feats    he   did    far  and  wide,   of  which    the 

'  Among  the  various  apologies  for  Ariadne's  desertion,  Plutarch  includes  a  most 
anromantic  one  ot  her  being  so  sea-sick  that  Theseus  had  to  put  her  on  land,  then 
himself  was  blown  out  to  sea  by  a  storm — an  accident  common  enough  in  fact  on  those 
squally  waters.  A  modern  commentary,  suggested  by  the  recent  discoveries  in  Crete, 
is  that  the  vast  rambling  palace  built  for  its  Minos  kings  may  well  have  suggested  the 
poetical  idea  of  a  labyrinth. 


THESEUS  187 

most  celebrated  is  his  war  against  the  Amazons,  and 
the  wooing  with  his  sword  of  their  queen  Hippolyte 
to  be  his  loving  wife.  After  her  death  he  married 
Phaedra,  daughter  of  Minos,  who  revenged  on  him  his 
desertion  of  Ariadne,  when  the  time  came  that  his  glory 
set  in  clouds  of  misfortune.  Deceived  by  that  wicked 
stepmother,  he  cursed  his  innocent  son  Hippolytus,  who 
came  soon  to  a  violent  end,  flung  out  of  his  chariot  and 
dragged  to  death  on  the  seashore  when  Poseidon  sent 
a  monster  out  of  the  waves  to  scare  his  horses;  then 
too  late  the  mourning  father  learned  how  false  Phaedra 
had  beguiled  him.  In  his  old  age  the  fickle  citizens  of 
Athens  turned  against  the  hero  to  whom  they  owed  so 
much;  and  so  deep  did  he  lay  their  ingratitude  to  heart, 
that  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  city,  betaking  himself 
to  an  island  where  a  treacherous  enemy  did  him  to  death. 
Not  till  ages  had  passed  were  his  remains  brought  to 
Athens,  and  a  famous  temple  came  to  be  built  there  to 
his  memory. 


PHILOMELA 

At  Athens  was  told  an  older  tale,  and  a  sadder,  than 
that  of  Theseus.  The  founder  of  the  city  was  taken  to  be 
one  Cecrops,  from  over  the  sea,  whose  grandson  Pandion 
had  two  daughters,  Procne  and  Philomela.  In  his  reign 
Athens  was  hard  beset  by  barbarians  and  delivered  only 
by  help  of  Tereus,  a  fierce  king  from  Thrace,  to  whom 
grateful  Pandion  could  not  but  offer  as  reward  either  of 
his  daughters  in  marriage. 

Tereus  chose  Procne,  the  elder;  and  the  wedding 
was  held  forthwith,  yet  with  evil  auspices,  for  though 
Tereus  had  the  god  Ares  for  father.  Hymen  came  not 
to  bless  the  feast,  nor  Hera  and  her  attendant  Graces ; 
but  the  chief  guests  were  the  dread  Furies,  and  a  hoarse 
owl  hooted  on  the  roof  of  the  bridal  chamber.  The 
rude  Tereus,  making  light  of  these  omens,  bore  his  bride 
away  to  Thrace.  They  had  one  son,  named  Itys,  and 
for  years  they  lived  together  without  mischance. 

But,  when  years  had  passed,  Procne  began  to  weary 
among  the  half-savage  Thracians,  who  could  not  make 
her  forget  Athens  and  her  dear  sister  Philomela.  At 
last,  her  longing  grew  so  strong  that  she  coaxed  Tereus 
to  let  her  go  home  on  a  visit.  He  harshly  denied  her 
request ;  but  by  dint  of  tears  and  kisses  she  won  him 
over  to  consent  that  Philomela  should  be  brought  to  see 
her  sister  in  Thrace. 

Tereus  sailed  to  Athens,  where  he  found  the  old 
king  loath  to  part  with  his  other  daughter,  even  for  a 


PHILOMELA  189 

time.  With  misgivings  he  gave  way  to  the  plea  of 
Procne's  love  of  her  sister,  who  for  her  part  was  not 
less  eager  to  see  Procne  once  more.  Before  letting 
her  go,  Pandion  made  Tereus  swear  to  keep  his  dear 
child  from  harm,  and  to  send  her  back  safe  to  Athens ; 
then  he  took  leave  of  her  with  tearful  farewells,  as  if 
fearing  never  to  embrace  her  again. 

Too  truly  he  feared,  for  the  barbarous  Thracian's 
oath  was  as  false  as  his  love.  No  sooner  had  he  set 
eyes  on  Philomela  in  the  bloom  of  her  maidenhood, 
than  his  heart  took  flame,  and  he  repented  his  choice 
of  the  elder  sister.  As  they  sailed  across  the  sea,  he 
set  himself  to  woo  the  younger,  who,  in  her  innocence, 
took  all  his  endearments  as  offered  for  Procne's  sake, 
and  smiled  upon  him  in  the  joyful  hope  soon  to 
meet  her  sister.  But  once  he  had  her  on  land  in  his 
own  wild  forests,  Tereus  no  longer  disguised  his  wicked 
desire  to  put  her  in  her  sister's  place. 

The  sorrowful  Philomela  would  have  none  of  his 
hateful  love ;  but  she  cried  in  vain  for  help  to  the 
gods ;  and  when  with  drawn  sword  he  would  have 
forced  her  to  his  will,  she  fell  on  her  knees  beseech- 
ing of  him  death  rather  than  dishonour.  From  that 
one  crime  the  fierce  tyrant  shrank,  yet  with  his  cruel 
blade  he  cut  out  her  tongue  that  it  might  not  betray 
his  falsehood.  To  make  surer,  he  shut  her  up  in  a 
lonely  prison  far  among  the  woods,  where  Procne  might 
never  learn  that  she  still  lived. 

To  Procne  he  told  that  her  sister  was  dead ;  and 
when  this  news  came  to  Athens,  the  old  father  died  of 
grief.  Well  Philomela  guessed  how  Procne  had  been 
deceived;  but  her  watchful  keepers  gave  her  no  chance 
to  escape,  so  for  a  year  the  queen  mourned  both  sister 
and    father   as   lost    to   her    in    the   tomb,    till   at    last 


I90  PHILOMELA 

with  horror  she  learned  the  truth.  Dumb  Philomela's  ■ 
wits  were  free,  and  so  were  her  hands.  She  got  leave  J 
to  spend  her  prison  hours  in  weaving,  then  on  a  white 
web  she  wrought  with  purple  threads  the  story  of  her 
woeful  case.  When  her  work  was  done,  for  pity,  or 
bribes,  she  found  a  messenger  to  carry  it  to  the  queen. 

Tereus  was  away  from  home  when  this  woven  letter 
came  to  Procne's  hands,  painting  for  her  how  she  had 
been  deceived  and  how  her  beloved  sister  was  still 
alive.  With  the  messenger  for  guide  she  hurried  to 
the  prison,  tore  Philomela  from  her  keepers,  and 
brought  her  home,  the  miserable  sisters  mingling  their 
tears,  while  Procne  alone  could  raise  her  voice  in 
threats  of  vengeance  against  the  husband  who  had  so 
foully  wronged  them  both.  She,  erst  so  gentle  and 
loving,  now  vowed  to  slay  Tereus  in  his  sleep,  to  burn 
his  house,  to  curse  him  before  the  gods  who  too  long 
had  let  such  wickedness  go  unpunished. 

As  they  reached  the  gates  there  ran  out  to  meet 
them  Itys,  Procne's  son,  the  darling  of  his  rough 
father,  and  his  image  in  features.  That  likeness  to 
Tereus  inflamed  the  mother's  wrath,  and  when  she  saw 
how  her  sister  could  not  speak  a  word  to  greet  the 
wondering  boy,  her  fury  broke  out  upon  this  innocent 
one.  Like  a  tigress  she  sprang  at  him,  and,  maddened 
by  woe,  struck  a  dagger  into  the  throat  of  her  own 
son.  One  wound  was  enough;  yet  Philomela,  also,  fed 
her  heartburning  on  the  boy's  blood.  These  two  raging 
women  tore  Itys  limb  from  limb,  and  boiled  his  flesh 
in  a  caldron,  all  their  minds  hot  for  revenge  on  the 
father.  When  Tereus  came  home,  Procne  set  before 
him  that  horrid  meal.  He  ate  unsuspecting,  and  only 
when  gorged  to  the  full,  thought  of  asking  what  game 
this  was  she  had  cooked  so  well. 


PHILOMELA  191 

For  answer  burst  in  speechless  Philomela,  to  fling 
the  gory  head  of  his  son  at  the  king's  feet,  and  Procne 
brandishing  the  torch  with  which  she  had  kindled  their 
marriage  bed.  The  looks  of  the  two  wronged  women 
told  their  tale  as  plainly  as  a  hundred  tongues.  With 
cries  and  imprecations  the  father  leaped  to  his  feet, 
overturning  the  table  in  his  blind  horror  of  the  un- 
natural food.  He  drew  his  sword  upon  the  sisters, 
who  fled  before  him  from  the  accursed  house,  now 
filled  with  smoke  and  flame. 

Tereus  fiercely  followed  them  into  the  woods,  where, 
as  minstrels  tell,  the  gods  worked  a  miracle  to  mark 
the  guilt  of  this  house.  Procne  was  turned  into  a 
swallow,  and  Philomela  into  a  nightingale,  flying  ever 
pursued  by  a  long-billed  hoopoe  that  was  no  other 
than  the  false  husband  with  his  blood-rusted  sword. 
But  old  Pausanias  has  another  tale :  "  Procne  and 
Philomela  melted  away  in  tears,  lamenting  what  they 
had  done  and  suff'ered,  and  the  story  of  their  being 
changed  into  a  nightingale  and  swallow  comes  from 
these  birds  having  a  sorrowful  and  plaintive  note" — such 
as  well  might  tune  the  unhappy  sisters'  song.^ 

1  This  painful  story  is  told  in   different  ways,  Procne  and  Philomela  exchanging 
their  parts  in  one  version. 


THE    TRAGEDIES    OF   THEBES 

I.   Cadmus 

It  is  told  of  Cadmus,  the  Tyrian,  that  he  first 
taught  the  use  of  letters  to  Greece.  And  a  strange 
errand  it  was  that  brought  this  stranger  from  his  home 
beyond  the  sea. 

His  father,  king  Agenor,  had  one  young  daughter, 
Europa,  on  whom  fell  the  eyes  of  Zeus,  and  he  plotted 
to  bear  her  away  to  be  his  own.  As  Europa  was 
sporting  with  her  companions  on  the  seashore,  the  god 
appeared  to  her  in  the  shape  of  a  milk-white  bull,  so 
gentle  and  goodly  that  she  fell  to  stroking  it  and  deck- 
ing its  head  with  flowers,  while  it  licked  her  neck, 
lowing  as  if  to  breathe  a  spell  upon  the  Tyrian  maid 
that  gave  back  a  kiss  to  this  kingly  creature.  As  it 
lay  down  on  the  grass,  the  playful  girl  made  bold  to 
mount  its  broad  back.  But  she  screamed  with  fright 
when  at  once  it  leapt  to  its  feet,  and  galloped  away 
with  her  like  a  spirited  courser.  Europa  did  not  dare 
to  throw  herself  off,  still  less  when  the  bull  plunged 
with  her  into  the  sea.  Heedless  of  her  cries,  it  bore 
that  light  burden  across  the  waves,  clinging  to  its 
flower-wreathed  horns  and  looking  back  wildly  to  the 
shore,  soon  lost  for  her  in  tears.  She  would  see  her 
native  land  no  more. 

With  dolphins  and  Nereids  gambolling  on  the  track, 
and  Tritons  blowing  their  horns  in  bridal  glee,  all  night 

192 


CADMUS  193 

the  bull  swam  swift  and  strong  as  a  galley,  then  at 
daylight  set  Europa  on  an  island,  which  indeed  was 
Crete.  There  the  bull  vanished,  Zeus  taking  his  own 
godlike  form  to  tell  her  how  he  had  done  this  for 
love.  Aphrodite,  too,  appeared  to  comfort  her  with  a 
promise  that  a  whole  new  quarter  of  the  world  should 
be  called  after  her  name.  So  the  maiden  let  herself 
forget  her  Asian  home,  and  in  time  became  the  mother 
of  Minos  and  Rhadamanthus,  who  were  to  sit  in  Hades 
as  stern  judges  of  the  dead. 

But  the  king  of  Tyre  never  ceased  to  mourn  his 
lost  daughter.  When  her  scared  playmates  came  run- 
ning back,  crying  out  what  had  befallen  her,  he  was 
beside  himself  for  wrath  and  grief.  Bitterly  reproach- 
ing his  three  sons,  Cadmus,  Phoenix,  and  Cilix,  with 
having  kept  no  better  guard  over  their  sister,  he  sent 
them  out  in  search  of  her,  and  bade  them  not  return 
home  unless  they  brought  back  Europa. 

The  three  youths  set  out  together,  and  with  them 
went  their  woeful  mother  Telephassa,  who  could  not 
rest  while  her  dear  daughter  was  so  strangely  missing. 
For  weeks  they  hastened  here  and  there,  for  months 
and  years,  seeking  everywhere  to  hear  of  Europa,  but 
no  one  had  seen  her  in  any  haunt  of  men.  First 
Phoenix  grew  tired  of  their  long  quest,  dropping  off 
from  it  to  make  himself  a  home  in  the  land  called 
from  him  Phoenicia.  Then  Cilix  in  turn  wearied  of 
long  bootless  wandering,  and  fixed  himself  in  the 
country  of  Cilicia.  But  Cadmus  and  his  mother  held 
on,  till  she,  worn  out  by  sorrow  and  travel,  lay  down 
to  die,  her  last  words  a  charge  to  him  not  to  give  up 
the  search. 

With  a  few  faithful  servants  who  had  followed  him 
from   Tyre,    Cadmus    crossed    the    sea,   and    came    into 

(C288)  Sa 


194         THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  THEBES 

Greece ;  but  there  he  could  still  hear  no  news  of  his 
sister,  so  that  at  last  he  lost  all  hope  to  find  her  alive. 
Without  her  he  might  not  see  his  father's  face,  and 
he  knew  not  where  to  turn  for  a  home.  Coming  to 
the  renowned  Delphic  oracle  of  Apollo,  he  sought  its 
counsel,  and  was  bidden  to  follow  a  cow  he  would  find 
feeding  alone  in  a  meadow  hard  by:  where  the  cow  first 
lay  down  he  should  build  a  city  and  call  its  name  Thebes. 

He  soon  found  the  cow,  that  walked  on  before  him, 
leading  him  and  his  men  many  a  league  through  fields 
and  hills,  into  a  land  of  mountains  and  plains  which 
came  to  be  called  Boeotia.  There  at  last  the  cow, 
lowing  to  the  sky,  laid  itself  upon  the  grass  as  token 
for  Cadmus  that  his  long  wandering  was  at  an  end. 
Thankfully  he  fell  down  to  kiss  the  strange  earth  a 
god  seemed  to  give  him  for  his  own. 

But  the  place  had  a  fearsome  lord  with  whom  he 
must  reckon.  Proposing  to  offer  sacrifice  to  Pallas- 
Athene,  that  she  might  be  favourable  to  him,  he  sent  his 
servants  to  draw  water  from  a  stream  which  rushed  out  of 
a  dark  cave,  its  mouth  hidden  in  a  thick  grove  of  mossy 
oaks  never  touched  by  the  axe.  The  men  entered  the 
grove,  but  came  not  back ;  and  from  within  he  heard 
a  sound  of  hissing,  and  saw  wreaths  of  foul  smoke 
spreading  among  the  trees.  He  bounded  forward  to 
find  his  servants  lying  dead  before  the  cave,  scorched  by 
the  breath  of  a  huge  dragon  that  stretched  towards  him 
its  three  fiery  heads,  each  bristling  with  three  rows  of 
teeth  through  which  it  breathed  poisonous  fumes,  its  eyes 
shining  like  fire,  and  its  red  crests  glowing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  cave  mouth,  as  it  pushed  out  its  long  neck  to  lick 
the  bodies  of  the  slain. 

"Ah!  poor  companions,  either  must  I  avenge  you,  or 
be  your  mate  in  death  1 "  cried  Cadmus,  and  snatched  up 


CADMUS  195 

a  heavy  rock  to  hurl  It  at  the  monster,  from  whose 
horny  scales  it  bounded  back  without  doing  them  harm; 
but  all  the  dark  wood  echoed  with  an  angry  roar. 

Undaunted,  the  hero  flung  his  spear  so  straight  and 
strong  that  black  blood  gushed  from  the  dragon's  breast 
to  mingle  with  the  foam  of  its  fury.  Now  it  uncoiled 
all  its  monstrous  length,  and  issuing  from  the  cave,  reared 
its  horrid  heads  like  trees  to  fall  upon  the  man  who  dared 
to  face  its  wounded  rage.  But  Cadmus  held  his  ground, 
smiting  with  all  his  might  at  the  fiery  jaws,  till  he  drove 
his  sword  through  one  poison-swollen  throat  to  nail  it  to 
an  oak  trunk.  The  monster  twisted  its  necks  and  lashed 
its  tail  so  as  to  bend  the  thick  tree  double,  but  the  roots 
held  firm,  and  the  sword  stuck  fast;  so  there  it  writhed 
helplessly  while  its  fiery  breath  was  quenched  by  its  own 
blood. 

All  unhurt,  Cadmus  stood  over  the  dead  body,  when 
he  was  aware  of  Pallas  at  his  side,  come  down  from 
Olympus  to  found  a  city  that  should  grow  great  under 
her  aegis. 

"  Sow  the  dragon's  teeth  in  the  earth,"  she  bid  him. 
"  From  them  will  spring  up  a  race  of  warlike  men  to  do 
thy  will." 

Much  wondering  at  such  counsel,  Cadmus  did  not  dis- 
obey. He  dug  deep  furrows  with  his  sword;  he  plucked 
out  the  dead  dragon's  teeth;  he  sowed  them  in  the  earth 
drenched  by  its  gore.  Forthwith  the  ground  began  to 
heave  and  swell  and  bristle  with  spear  points ;  then 
quickly  there  sprang  up  a  crop  of  armed  men,  their 
weapons  clashing  together  like  corn  beaten  by  the  wind. 
Cadmus,  in  amazement,  made  ready  to  defend  himself, 
but  again  a  divine  voice  murmured  in  his  ear — 

"  Sheathe  thy  sword  :  let  these  do  after  their  kind." 

No  sooner  were  the  new-born  warriors  full  grown  out 


196         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF   THEBES 

of  the  furrows,  than  they  fell  on  each  other  in  their  lust 
for  battle.  So  fiercely  they  fought  that,  before  the  sun 
was  set,  all  but  five  had  fallen  dead  on  the  bosom  of 
their  mother  earth.  These  five,  weary  with  bloodshed, 
dropped  their  weapons  and  offered  themselves  to  serve 
Cadmus  in  place  of  his  followers  slain  by  the  dragon. 

With  their  aid  he  built  here  the  citadel  that  came  to 
be  called  Thebes,  and  thus  founded  a  kingdom  in  the 
Boeotian  land.  There  are  those  who  say  that  this  Cad- 
mus, "  man  of  the  east ",  came  not  from  Tyre,  but  from 
famed  Thebes  in  Egypt,  whose  name  he  brought  into 
Greece.  But  others  have  it  that  the  name  was  given  by 
Apollo's  oracle. 

The  new  city  throve,  yet  its  first  lord  had  to  suffer 
from  foes,  both  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  The  dragon- 
serpent  slain  by  him  was  sacred  to  the  god  Ares,  who 
long  bore  ill  will  to  Cadmus  for  its  death.  In  time 
Cadmus  seemed  to  have  made  amends  for  that  sacrilege, 
so  that  he  got  to  wife  Harmonia,  daughter  of  Ares  and 
Aphrodite.  All  the  gods  came  to  the  marriage ;  and 
among  the  gifts  were  a  necklace  and  a  veil  made  by 
Hephaestus  for  Aphrodite's  sake,  gauds  that  became  too 
famous  heirlooms  as  charged  with  misfortune  for  whoever 
wore  them.  And  though  Ares,  at  the  bidding  of  Zeus, 
appeared  to  be  reconciled  with  Cadmus,  a  curse  rested 
on  his  house.  His  children  and  his  children's  children 
came  to  evil  ends,  among  them  I  no,  who  drowned  herself 
after  her  husband  in  madness  killed  their  son,  and  Semele, 
consumed  by  the  fierce  glory  of  Zeus,  when  she  became 
the  mother  of  Dionysus. 

Cadmus  himself,  they  say,  was  dethroned  by  his  own 
grandson  Pentheus.  In  his  old  age,  the  many-woed  king 
had  again  to  go  forth  homeless^  yet  not  alone,  for  with 
him  went  his  faithful  wife  Harmonia.     They  wandered 


NIOBE  197 

into  the  wild  northern  forests,  till  this  once  dauntless 
hero,  bowed  down  by  infirmities  and  burdened  with  the 
curse  of  that  dragon's  blood,  was  fain  to  murmur — 

"  If  a  serpent  be  so  dear  to  the  gods,  would  I  were 
a  serpent  rather  than  a  man ! " 

At  once  he  sank  upon  his  breast,  his  skin  turning  to 
scales  and  his  limbs  to  speckled  coils.  As  Harmonia 
saw  how  her  husband  was  transformed,  she  prayed  that 
she  too  might  become  a  serpent;  and  her  prayer  likewise 
was  answered.  There  they  dwell  still  among  the  rocky 
woods,  hurting  no  man,  nor  hiding  from  the  sight  of 
men  who  were  once  their  fellows. 

11.   Niobe 

Thebes,  thus  founded  in  bloodshed,  had  a  long  his- 
tory written  in  letters  of  blood  by  the  hate  of  rival  gods. 
It  was  the  fate  of  Pentheus  to  be  torn  in  pieces  by  the 
women  of  his  house,  his  own  mother  their  leader,  because 
he  frowned  on  their  wild  worship  of  Dionysos. 

Another  queen  who  worshipped  the  wine -god  was 
Dirce,  wife  of  the  usurper  Lycus.  The  daughter  of  the 
rightful  king  was  Antiope,  beloved  by  Zeus,  to  whom 
she  bore  twin  sons,  Amphion  and  Zethus,  brought  up 
humbly  as  shepherds  on  Mount  Cithaeron,  while  their 
mother  wandered  in  lonely  exile,  and  in  the  end,  they  say, 
went  mad  through  her  misfortunes.  At  one  time  she  fell 
into  the  power  of  Dirce,  who  in  her  hatred  for  the  captive 
she  had  wronged,  ordered  her  to  be  dragged  to  death  by 
a  wild  bull  at  the  hands  of  Amphion  and  Zethus.  But 
when  they  knew  the  victim  for  their  mother,  they  led 
a  band  of  herdsmen  against  the  city,  slew  Lycus,  and 
tied  cruel  Dirce  to  the  horns  of  the  bull  to  make  her 
perish  by  her  own  device. 


198         THE   TRAGEDIES  OF  THEBES 

So  Amphion  became  king  at  Thebes,  which  he  walled 
about  through  the  power  of  music,  being  so  skilled  to  play- 
on  a  lyre  given  him  by  Hermes,  that  at  its  enchanting 
sound  the  very  stones  were  drawn  to  move  as  he  bade 
them.  But  on  his  children,  too,  fell  a  curse  of  wrath  and 
woe. 

Amphion  had  married  Niobe,  daughter  of  the  doomed 
Tantalus,  who  was  himself  a  son  of  Zeus.  She  bore 
seven  noble  sons  and  seven  fair  daughters ;  then,  too 
proud  of  this  goodly  brood,  she  made  bold  to  exult  over 
Leto,  as  mother  of  twins  and  no  more.  But  these  twins 
were  the  divine  Apollo  and  Artemis,  on  whom  their 
despised  mother  called  to  avenge  her  against  that  pre- 
sumptuous queen. 

"  Enough  ! "  Apollo  cut  short  her  tearful  tale.  "  Com- 
plaining but  delays  chastisement." 

Wrapt  in  dark  storm-clouds,  brother  and  sister  flew 
to  overlook  Thebes,  where  on  an  arena  outside  the  walls, 
the  seven  sons  of  Niobe  were  exercising  themselves  in 
chariot  racing,  wrestling,  and  other  sports.  They  had  no 
warning  unless  the  clank  of  the  god's  quiver,  before  the 
eldest  was  pierced  to  the  heart  by  an  arrow  from  the  sky, 
and  fell  without  a  groan  among  the  feet  of  his  horses. 
The  second  turned  his  chariot  to  fly,  but  that  did  not 
avail  him,  struck  by  Apollo's  unerring  aim.  So,  also,  it 
went  with  the  third  and  fourth  brothers,  transfixed  by  a 
single  shaft.  The  fifth  and  sixth  sons  ran  to  raise  the 
bodies  of  their  fallen  brethren,  but  were  themselves  laid 
low  before  they  could  embrace  the  dead.  The  youngest 
only  remained,  a  long-haired,  fair-faced  striphng,  who, 
guessing  how  he  had  to  do  with  an  angry  god,  threw 
himself  on  his  knees  to  beg  for  mercy,  but  the  fatal 
point  was  already  winging  to  his  breast. 

The  news  of  this  sudden  slaughter  quickly  spread 


NIOBE  199 

through  the  city.  Amphion  stabbed  himself  for  despair 
at  the  loss  of  his  sons.  Niobe,  gathering  her  scared 
daughters  about  her,  as  chickens  under  the  wings  of  a 
bird,  hurried  out  to  the  field  on  which  her  seven  boys 
were  stretched  lifeless  around  the  altar  of  Leto.  At  the 
sight  of  them,  rage  spoke  louder  than  grief,  and  raising 
her  head  against  the  gods  who  had  so  avenged  their 
mother,  she  cried  bitterly — 

"  Triumph,  cruel  Leto ;  but  even  now  my  offspring 
surpasses  thine ! " 

For  answer  twanged  the  bow  of  Artemis,  and  the 
eldest  daughter  fell  as  she  stood  tearing  her  hair  over  her 
slain  brothers.  Next,  the  second  with  a  sharp  cry  put 
her  hand  to  her  heart;  then  the  third  sister,  who  would 
have  held  her  up,  sank  beside  her,  bleeding  from  an 
invisible  arrow.  One  by  one,  all  the  daughters  were 
shot  down,  till  only  the  youngest  in  terror  hung  to  her 
mother,  whose  pride  now  gave  way;  tears  burst  forth, 
and  she  stretched  out  her  hands  in  suppliant  prayer — 

"  Spare  me  but  one,  the  last  of  so  many! " 

As  she  spoke,  the  last  shaft  of  pitiless  Artemis  reached 
the  child  on  the  mother's  bosom.  Without  a  wound, 
Niobe  herself  sank  as  dead,  her  heart  broken,  her  limbs 
motionless,  her  eyes  staring,  the  blood  gone  from  her 
face,  where  only  her  tears  did  not  cease  to  flow.  Sorrow 
had  turned  her  to  stone.  For  ever,  they  say,  as  the  hot 
rays  of  the  sun  and  the  cold  moonbeams  pour  down  by 
turns  on  that  stone  image,  it  weeps  for  the  children  of 
whom  Niobe  had  boasted  against  the  jealous  gods. 


200         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF  THEBES 

III.  CEdipus 

After  the  destruction  of  Amphion*s  race,  Laius  was 
brought  back  to  his  forefathers'  throne,  from  which  he 
had  been  driven  into  exile.  Among  all  the  descendants 
of  Cadmus,  the  most  famous  and  the  most  unhappy  was 
this  king's  son,  doomed  by  an  oracle  to  be  the  death  of 
his  own  father  and  the  husband  of  his  mother.  Fore- 
warned of  such  a  fate,  when  his  queen  Jocasta  bore  a 
boy,  Laius  had  him  cast  out  on  Mount  Cithasron,  with 
his  feet  tightly  bound  to  make  the  child  more  helpless 
against  speedy  death.  But  the  goatherd  charged  with 
this  cruel  errand  took  pity  on  the  wailing  infant,  and, 
though  he  told  the  king  that  his  bidding  was  done,  in 
truth  he  had  given  it  to  another  herd,  who  took  it  to 
his  master  Polybus,  king  of  Corinth.  By  him  the  boy 
was  kindly  received,  and  brought  up  under  the  name  of 
CE^ldipus  ("  Swollen  foot ") ;  while  Laius  and  Jocasta, 
making  sure  he  had  been  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts, 
believed  themselves  to  live  childless,  and  thus  hoped  to 
cheat  the  oracle. 

Polybus  and  his  childless  wife  Merope  adopted  the 
outcast  boy  as  their  own  son ;  then,  as  years  went  on, 
few  at  Corinth  remembered  how  he  was  not  so  in  truth. 
CEdipus  grew  to  manhood  never  doubting  but  that  these 
foster-parents  were  his  father  and  mother,  till  one  day,  at 
a  feast,  some  drunken  fellow  mocked  at  him  for  a  base- 
born  foundling.  In  wrathful  concern  he  sought  to  know 
from  Merope  whose  son  he  truly  was.  She  tried  to  put 
him  off,  yet  could  not  deny  that  he  was  a  stranger  by 
birth.  The  dismayed  youth  turned  to  Polybus,  who  also 
gave  him  doubtful  answers,  bidding  him  ask  no  more, 
since  it  would  be  a  woeful  misfortune  if  ever  he  came  to 
know  his  real  parents. 


1 


CEDIPUS  20I 

But  these  hints  only  made  QEdipus  more  eager  to 
learn  the  truth,  and  he  bethought  himself  of  Apollo's 
oracle.  Leaving  Corinth  secretly,  he  travelled  on  foot  to 
Delphi,  where  the  priestess  vouchsafed  no  plain  answer  to 
his  question,  but  only  this  fearful  warning — 

"  Shun  thy  father,  ill-omened  youth  !  Shouldst  thou 
meet  with  him,  he  will  fall  by  thy  hand ;  then,  wedding 
thine  own  mother,  thou  wilt  leave  a  race  destined  to  fresh 
crimes  and  woe." 

CEdipus  turned  away  with  a  shudder.  Now  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  understand  why  Polybus  and  Merope 
had  made  a  mystery  of  his  birth.  Fearing  affliction  for 
them,  who  loved  him  well,  he  vowed  never  to  go  back 
to  Corinth,  but  to  seek  some  distant  land,  where,  if  mad- 
ness came  upon  his  mind  to  drive  him  to  such  wicked 
deeds,  he  might  be  far  from  the  parents  he  took  for 
threatened  by  so  dire  a  curse. 

From  Delphi  he  was  making  towards  Boeotia,  when  in 
a  narrow  hollow  way  where  three  roads  met,  he  came  upon 
an  old  man  in  a  chariot,  before  which  ran  an  arrogant 
servant  bidding  all  stand  aside  to  let  it  pass.  CEdipus, 
used  to  bid  rather  than  to  be  bidden,  answered  the  man 
hotly,  and  felled  him  to  the  ground ;  then  his  master 
flung  a  javelin  at  this  presumptuous  youth.  With  his 
staff  CEdipus  struck  back,  overturned  the  old  man  from 
the  chariot,  and  left  him  dead  by  the  roadside.  In  the 
pride  of  victory  CEdipus  went  his  way,  ignorant  that  the 
proud  lord  he  had  slain  in  a  chance  quarrel  was  no 
other  than  his  own  father,  Laius.  A  traveller  who  found 
the  king's  corpse  buried  it  where  it  lay ;  and  the  news 
was  brought  to  Thebes  by  the  charioteer,  who,  having 
fled  from  that  one  bold  assailant,  to  excuse  his  own 
cowardice  gave  out  that  a  band  of  robbers  had  fallen 
upon  them  in  the  hollow  pass. 


202         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF   THEBES 

Wandering  from  city  to  city,  CEdipus  reached  Thebes, 
to  find  it  all  in  mourning  not  only  for  the  death  of  its 
king,  but  from  the  dread  of  a  monster  that  haunted  the 
rocky  heights  beyond  the  wall.  This  was  the  Sphinx, 
which  men  took  to  be  a  sister  of  Cerberus,  that  three- 
headed  hound  of  Hades.  To  anyone  coming  near  it, 
the  creature  put  a  riddle,  which  if  he  failed  to  answer, 
it  devoured  him  on  the  spot.  Till  some  man  should 
have  guessed  its  riddle,  the  Sphinx  would  not  be  gone ; 
and  so  long  as  It  brooded  over  the  city,  blight  and  famine 
wasted  the  fields  around.  One  or  another  Theban  daily 
met  death  in  setting  his  wit  against  this  monster's,  and  its 
last  victim  had  been  a  son  of  Creon,  Jocasta's  brother, 
who  for  a  time  ruled  the  kingless  land.  Seeing  himself 
unable  to  get  rid  of  the  Sphinx,  Creon  proclaimed  that 
whoever  could  answer  its  riddle,  were  he  the  poorest 
stranger,  should  have  as  reward  the  kingdom  of  Thebes, 
with  all  the  dead  king's  treasures,  and  the  hand  of  his 
widow,  Jocasta,  in  marriage. 

As  CEdipus  entered  the  city,  a  herald  went  through 
the  streets  to  make  this  proclamation,  that  set  the  friend- 
less youth  pricking  up  his  ears.  Life  seemed  not  dear  to 
him;  all  he  desired  was  to  escape  that  destiny  of  crime 
threatened  by  the  oracle.  At  once  he  presented  himself 
before  Creon,  declaring  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  answer 
the  Sphinx. 

They  led  him  outside  the  walls  to  the  stony  wilder- 
ness it  haunted,  strewn  with  the  bones  of  those  who  had 
failed  to  guess  its  riddle.  Here  he  must  seek  out  the 
creature  alone,  for  its  very  voice  made  men  tremble.  Soon 
was  he  aware  of  it  perched  on  a  rock,  a  most  grisly  mon- 
ster, with  the  body  of  a  lion,  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  and 
the  head  of  a  woman.  But  CEdipus,  caring  little  whether 
he  lived  or  died,  shrank  not  from  its  appalling  looks. 


CEDIPUS  203 

"  Put  thy  riddle ! "  he  cried ;  and  the  Sphinx  croaked 
back — 

"What  creature  alone  changes  the  number  of  its 
feet  ?  In  the  morning  it  goes  on  four  feet,  at  midday  on 
two,  in  the  evening  on  three  feet.  And  with  the  fewest 
feet,  it  has  ever  the  greatest  strength  and  swiftness." 

Fixing  her  cruel  eyes  on  the  youth,  she  frowned  to 
see  him  not  at  a  loss, — nay,  he  smiled  in  her  stony  face, 
answering  forthwith — 

"The  riddle  is  easy.  It  is  man  that  in  childhood  goes 
on  all-fours,  then  walks  firmly  on  two  feet,  and  in  his 
old  age  must  lean  upon  a  staff." 

Furious  to  hear  her  riddle  guessed  for  the  first  time, 
the  Sphinx  gave  a  shrill  scream,  flapped  her  gloomy 
wings,  and  vanished  among  the  rocks,  never  more  to 
be  seen  at  Thebes.  With  shouts  of  joy  the  watching 
citizens  poured  out  to  greet  that  ready-witted  youth  that 
had  delivered  them  from  such  a  scourge.  They  hailed 
him  as  their  king ;  and  he  was  married  to  the  widowed 
Jocasta,  the  more  willingly  on  his  part,  as  he  believed 
himself  thus  made  safe  against  the  unnatural  union  pre- 
dicted by  the  oracle,  for  he  held  Merope  to  be  his  mother, 
for  all  her  denial. 

Years,  then,  he  reigned  at  Thebes  in  peace  and  pros- 
perity, gladly  obeyed  by  the  people,  who  took  this  young 
stranger  for  a  favourite  of  the  gods.  He  loved  his  wife 
Jocasta,  older  than  himself  as  she  was;  and  they  had  four 
children,  the  twin-sons  Eteocles  and  Polynices,  and  two 
daughters,  Antigone  and  Ismene.  But  when  these  were 
grown  to  full  age,  the  fortune  of  the  land  seemed  to 
change.  For  now  a  sore  plague  fell  upon  it,  so  that 
the  people  cried  for  help  to  their  king,  who  sent  to 
Delphi  his  brother-in-law,  Creon,  to  ask  of  the  oracle 
how  the  pestilence  might  be  stayed. 


204         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF   THEBES 

The  answer  was  that  it  came  as  punishment  for  the 
unatoned  blood  of  Laius.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
CEdipus  set  on  foot  enquiries  as  to  his  predecessor's 
death.  Vowing  to  do  justice  on  the  criminal,  whoever 
this  might  prove  to  be,  he  consulted  Tiresias  the  seer, 
struck  with  blindness  in  his  youth  because  he  had  spied 
upon  the  goddess  Athene,  who  again,  taking  pity  on  him 
for  the  loss  of  his  eyes,  gave  him  marvellous  sharpness  of 
ear,  so  that  he  understood  the  voice  of  all  birds,  also 
she  filled  his  mind  with  mystic  knowledge  of  things  past 
and  of  things  to  come.  But  the  blind  seer  was  loath  to 
tell  what  CEdipus  sought  to  know. 

"Bitter  is  knowing  when  ignorance  were  best.  Let 
me  go  home,  with  a  perilous  secret  hid  in  my  bosom ! " 

In  vain  the  people  besought  him,  in  vain  the  king 
bid  him  speak.  At  last  CEdipus  angrily  reviled  him  as 
having  himself  had  a  hand  in  the  murder  he  would  not 
disclose.     This  rash  accusation  made  the  old  man  speak. 

"  Hear  then,  oh  king,  if  thou  must  learn  the  truth. 
Thou  thyself  art  the  man  that  slew  Laius  in  the  hollow 
way  to  Delphi.  For  thy  sake,  and  no  other,  this  curse  is 
come  upon  the  city." 

Now  with  a  start  CEdipus  remembered  that  old  lord 
in  the  chariot  whom  he  had  slain  in  quarrel  as  he  came 
from  Delphi.  Anxiously  he  pressed  Jocasta  with  ques- 
tions about  her  first  husband.  She  described  his  grey 
hair,  his  haughty  bearing,  his  black  steeds ;  she  told  that 
he  had  been  killed  by  robbers  in  a  hollow  pass  where 
three  ways  met ;  and  every  word  made  CEdipus  surer  of 
the  truth.     But  his  wife  mocked  at  the  seer's  wisdom. 

"  Even  the  god's  oracle  may  speak  falsely,"  she  said, 
"for  Laius  was  warned  at  Delphi  that  he  should  fall  by 
the  hand  of  his  own  son,  who,  moreover,  should  marry 
bis  mother.     Yet  we  never  had  but  one  child,  and  he 


CEDIPUS  205 

was  thrown  out  to  die  on  Mount  Cithaeron  when  not 
three  days  old,  that  thus  our  house  should  escape  so 
dark  a  doom." 

Among  the  bystanders  chanced  to  be  that  goatherd 
charged  long  ago  with  the  child's  death;  and  him  Jocasta 
called  to  confirm  her  words.  But  the  old  man  fell  on 
his  knees,  confessing  how  he  had  not  had  the  heart  to 
leave  a  helpless  babe  to  be  torn  by  wolves  and  eagles, 
but  had  given  it  alive  to  a  servant  of  the  king  of 
Corinth. 

Jocasta  raised  a  cry,  for  she  knew  her  husband  passed 
for  a  son  of  that  king,  and  she  began  to  guess  the  truth, 
now  clear  to  the  awestruck  GEdipus,  that  he  and  no 
other  had  unwittingly  fulfilled  the  oracle  by  slaying  his 
own  father  and  wedding  his  mother.  While  he  stood 
aghast,  veiling  his  face  for  shame  and  horror,  she  fled 
to  her  chamber,  like  one  out  of  her  senses,  barring  her- 
self in  with  her  unspeakable  woe.  When  the  door  was 
broken  open,  she  had  hanged  herself  with  her  girdle 
rather  than  look  again  upon  the  husband  who  was  no 
other  than  her  son. 

"  Thy  sorrows  are  ended ;  but  for  me  death  were 
too  light  a  punishment ! "  he  wept  upon  her  dead  body. 
And  with  the  buckle  of  Jocasta's  girdle  he  bored  out  the 
sight  of  both  his  eyes,  so  that  night  came  upon  him  at 
noonday. 

A  blind  old  man,  his  hair  grown  suddenly  grey, 
CEdipus  groped  his  way  out  of  the  palace,  poorly 
dressed  as  he  had  entered  it  a  travel-worn  youth;  and 
leaning  on  the  staff  with  which  he  had  been  the  death  of 
his  father.  His  people  turned  away  from  him  shudder- 
ing. His  own  sons  held  aloof.  Only  his  daughters, 
Antigone  and  Ismene,  followed  him  tearfully,  begging 
him  to  stay.     He  would  not  be  entreated;  and  when 


2o6         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF   THEBES 

they  had  led  him  out  of  the  city,  Ismene  took  leave  of 
him  and  went  back  to  her  brothers,  already  quarrelling 
over  the  kingdom. 

But  Antigone  vowed  that  she  would  never  desert 
her  father,  and  with  him  she  wandered  away  from  her 
birthplace.  Led  by  her,  he  went  from  city  to  city  as  a 
blind  beggar,  till  they  came  to  Athens,  where  Theseus 
was  king.  He  gave  the  exiles  refuge  in  a  temple  at 
Colonos.  In  this  sanctuary  CEdipus  lived  on  for  some 
years,  poor  and  sorrowful,  pitied  by  his  neighbours  as  a 
victim  of  fate,  and  gently  tended  by  Antigone  till  death 
came  to  end  his  strange  misfortunes. 

IV.  The   Seven  against  Thebes 

After  the  death  of  her  old  father,  Antigone  went 
back  to  Thebes,  where  she  found  her  twin-brothers  at 
hot  strife.  Eteocles  and  Polynices  had  agreed  to  share 
the  kingdom  between  them,  ruling  year  about,  but  ever 
they  looked  jealously  on  each  other,  and  their  uncle, 
Creon,  could  not  keep  them  friends.  By  and  by  Eteocles, 
in  his  turn  of  office,  drove  his  brother  from  the  city, 
where  he  henceforth  reigned  alone. 

Thus  exiled,  Polynices  sought  refuge  at  Argos, 
hoping  for  the  help  of  its  king,  Adrastus.  As  by 
night  he  came  before  this  king's  palace,  he  ran  against 
another  fugitive,  Tydeus  of  Calydon,  son  of  King 
Oineus  and  brother  of  Meleager,  who  through  chance 
slaying  of  a  kinsman  had  also  had  to  fly  from  his  native 
land.  In  the  darkness  these  two  strangers  took  one 
another  for  enemies  and  drew  their  swords;  then  the 
clash  of  arms  brought  out  Adrastus  and  his  men  to 
part  them.  As  soon  as  the  torchlight  showed  those 
warriors'  shields,  the  king  uttered  a  cry  of  amazement. 


THE   SEVEN   AGAINST  THEBES        207 

"  Who  and  whence  are  ye  ? " 

This  Adrastus  had  been  troubled  by  an  oracle,  giving 
out  his  two  daughters  as  destined  to  marry  a  lion  and  a 
boar.  Now  Polynices  bore  a  lion's  head  on  his  shield, 
and  on  that  of  Tydeus  was  a  boar's,  cognizance  of  his 
part  in  the  great  Calydonian  boar  hunt  led  by  his 
brother.  On  seeing  their  devices  the  king  of  Argos 
joyfully  hailed  the  strangers  as  sent  to  fulfil  that  oracle 
in  a  manner  not  to  be  feared.  He  made  them  welcome 
to  his  house;  and,  learning  that  they  were  of  kingly  birth, 
he  forthwith  married  them  to  his  daughters,  Argia  and 
Deipyle,  both  glad  to  have  so  gallant  husbands  in  place 
of  fierce  beasts. 

Grateful  for  such  a  son-in-law,  Adrastus  warmly 
took  up  the  cause  of  Polynices  against  Eteocles,  and 
called  on  kinsmen  and  allies  to  gather  an  army  for 
restoring  him  to  his  kingdom.  Seven  were  the  captains 
of  that  host — Adrastus,  his  brothers  Hippomedon  and 
Parthenopaeus,  his  nephew  Capaneus,  his  brother-in-law 
Amphiaraus,  Tydeus,  and  Polynices  himself,  they  who 
came  to  be  famed  as  the  Seven  against  Thebes. 

One  only  of  these  heroes  had  hung  back  from  the 
enterprise — Amphiaraus,  renowned  both  as  warrior  and 
as  seer.  Divining  by  his  art  that  only  one  of  the 
Seven  would  come  back  alive  from  Thebes,  Amphiaraus, 
to  escape  the  king's  importunities,  hid  himself  in  a 
secret  place  known  only  to  his  wife  Eriphyle.  When 
Adrastus  would  not  march  forth  without  one  whom  he 
esteemed  the  eye  of  the  army,  Polynices  bethought  him- 
self of  winning  over  Eriphyle,  believed  to  have  power 
on  her  husband's  will  to  make  him  do  whatever  she 
desired.  The  son  of  Jocasta  had  brought  from  Thebes 
an  ancestral  treasure,  no  other  than  that  fatal  necklace 
made   by  Hephaestus  for   Harmonia,  wife  of  Cadmus. 


2o8         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF  THEBES 

With  this  dazzling  gaud  he  bribed  Eriphyle  to  disclose 
her  husband's  hiding-place  and  to  persuade  him  to  go 
against  Thebes.  Unwilling  at  heart,  Amphiaraus  then 
joined  the  host;  but  so  resentful  was  he  of  his  wife's 
treacherous  vanity  that,  before  setting  out,  he  made  his 
son  Alcmaeon  swear  to  kill  Eriphyle,  if  the  father  should 
not  come  back  alive. 

In  sight  of  Thebes,  the  allied  host  encamped  on 
Mount  Cithaeron;  and  Tydeus  went  forward  as  a  herald 
to  demand  that  Polynices  should  be  received  into  his 
kingdom.  Eteocles  sent  him  back  with  an  insolent 
answer  of  defiance,  for  the  city,  full  of  armed  men, 
was  fortified  by  a  high  wall  with  seven  gates,  behind 
which  the  usurper  felt  sure  of  his  defence.  Yet  to 
hearten  the  citizens,  he  called  on  the  blind  soothsayer, 
Tiresias,  who  gave  out  a  dark  foreboding — 

"Thebes  stands  in  dire  peril,  to  be  averted  only 
by  the  youngest  son  of  its  royal  house ;  his  life  alone 
is  the  sacrifice  that,  freely  offered,  can  save  the  city." 

At  this  utterance,  none  was  more  dismayed  than 
Creon,  Jocasta's  brother,  for  he  thought  how  his  darling 
son  Menceceus  was  the  youngest  of  the  fated  family. 
He  proposed,  then,  to  send  him  off  to  Delphi,  there  to 
be  kept  safe  under  sanctuary  of  Apollo.  But  the  brave 
stripling  had  at  once  devoted  his  life  to  his  native  city. 
The  oracle  no  sooner  heard,  he  hastened  to  the  highest 
tower  of  the  walls,  and  hurled  himself  over  among  the 
assailants. 

And  that  sacrifice  seemed  to  avail  for  the  safety  of 
Thebes.  Each  of  the  seven  heroes  stormed  at  a  differ- 
ent gate ;  but  all  were  driven  back  by  the  defenders, 
who,  sallying  out,  spread  death  and  rout  among  their 
enemy.  So  many  brave  warriors  fell,  that  when  once 
more  the  Argive  host  came  on,  Eteocles  sent  a  herald 


ANTIGONE  209 

to  propose  that  the  quarrel  should  forthwith  be  settled 
by  single  combat  between  him  and  Polynices. 

Thus  it  was  agreed :  the  brothers  met  outside  the 
walls,  and  fought  before  the  two  armies  with  such  fierce- 
ness, that  sweat  burst  in  thick  drops  on  the  brows  of 
the  onlookers,  loud  in  uproar  as  each  party  shouted  to 
hearten  its  own  champion.  They  clashed  together  like 
boars ;  they  broke  their  spears  on  one  another's  shields ; 
they  took  to  their  swords,  closing  in  desperate  thirst  for 
a  brother's  blood  that  poured  out  from  all  the  joints  of 
their  armour,  till  both  sank  dying  on  the  field. 

Both  sides  now  claiming  the  victory,  in  their  dispute 
they  fell  to  fighting  with  more  fury  than  ever.  Again 
the  invaders  were  routed,  and  fled,  all  their  leaders, 
save  Adrastus,  having  fallen,  as  Amphiaraus  had  fore- 
told. Yet  the  Thebans,  too,  suffered  such  loss  that  a 
battle  won  so  dearly  came  to  be  known  as  a  Cadmean 
victory.^ 

V.   Antigone 

The  sons  of  CEdipus  being  no  more,  Creon  again 
took  over  the  kingdom,  as  he  had  done  after  the  death 
of  Laius.  His  first  order  was  that,  to  mark  the  infamy 
of  Polynices  in  warring  against  his  mother's  city,  his 
body,  and  those  of  his  allies,  should  lie  unburied,  a 
prey  to  dogs  and  vultures.  So,  while  they  bore  Eteocles 
to  the  tomb  with  royal  pomp,  his  brother's  corpse  was 
left  to  be  parched  by  the  sun  and  drenched  by  the  dew, 
a  guard  set  over  it  night  and  day  to  see  that,  on  pain 
of  death,  no  friend  should  give  it  sepulture. 

But   Antigone,    faithful    to    her    brother    as   to    her 

1  The  heavy  losses  of  Pyrrhus,  in  one  of  his  Roman  battles,  gave  the  same  signifi- 
cance to  the  phrase  "  a  Pyrrhic  victory". 


2IO         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF  THEBES 

father,  had  stood  beside  the  dying  Polynices ;  and  with 
his  last  breath  he  had  made  her  promise  to  do  for  him 
those  funeral  rites  without  which  his  soul  might  not 
rest  in  peace.  No  threats  of  Creon  could  appal  hei 
sisterly  heart.  Ismene  wept  with  her  over  their  brother's 
fate,  but  had  not  the  boldness  to  share  her  pious  task. 
Alone,  in  the  moonlit  night,  Antigone  stole  forth  to  the 
field  strewn  with  corpses,  among  which  she  searched  out 
her  brother's.  Washing  it  with  tears,  she  strove  to  drag 
it  away;  but  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she  must  make 
haste,  not  to  be  seen  by  the  watchmen.  All  she  could 
do  was  softly  and  silently  to  sprinkle  the  body  with  dust; 
but  that  seemed  enough  to  save  it  from  miserable  wander- 
ing on  the  bank  of  Styx. 

In  the  morning,  one  of  the  guards  came  in  fear  to 
tell  Creon  that,  for  all  their  watchfulness,  Polynices' 
body  had  through  the  night  been  lightly  covered  with 
earth,  by  whose  hands  they  knew  not.  Creon  wrath- 
fully  bid  them  uncover  it,  and  keep  better  watch : 
their  own  lives  should  be  forfeit  if  they  again  let  any- 
one touch  the  body.  With  this  threat  the  man  went 
back  to  his  post,  glad  to  get  off  so  lightly;  for  the 
king's  resentment  against  Polynices  was  so  well  known, 
that  the  guards  had  cast  lots  which  of  them  should  take 
on  himself  the  perilous  office  of  bringing  news  of  his 
command  set  at  nought. 

Through  the  day  sprang  up  a  mighty  whirlwind, 
filling  the  air  with  dust.  Antigone  again  ventured  out, 
to  find,  as  she  feared,  that  her  brother's  body  had  been 
stripped  of  its  thin  coat  of  earth.  Again,  now  in  broad 
daylight,  she  was  trying  to  cover  it,  when  the  guard 
seized  her  and  brought  her,  bound,  before  Creon,  who 
stormed  like  a  tyrant  on  learning  by  whom  he  had 
been  thus  defied. 


ANTIGONE  21 1 

**  Rash  girl ! "  he  cried,  "  knew'st  thou  not  the  law 
made  but  yesterday?" 

"  I  know  a  higher  law  that  Is  neither  of  yesterday 
nor  to-day,"  she  answered  with  unshrinking  eye,  "  the 
eternal  law  of  pity,  that  forbids  me  to  leave  the  dead 
son  of  my  mother  unburied." 

"If  such  be  thy  love  for  a  brother,  thou  shalt  go  to 
love  him  in  Hades ! "  stormed  the  king. 

"  Death  Is  the  worst  thou  canst  do  to  me ;  but  my 
name  shall  live  as  that  of  one  who  feared  not  to  do  a 
sister's  duty.  And  to  die  before  my  time  were  welcome 
in  a  world  of  such  woes." 

Enraged  by  her  boldness,  Creon  gave  command  that 
she  should  be  walled  up  in  a  cave  and  there  left  to  die. 
He  v/as  obeyed,  for  the  shuddering  citizens  did  not  ven- 
ture to  cross  his  vindictive  mood,  though  all  men  whis- 
pered against  him  that  there  was  no  honour  In  warring 
upon  the  dead.  But  Ismene  now  found  heart  to  with- 
stand him,  clinging  to  her  sister,  falsely  accusing  herself 
as  an  accomplice  In  the  pious  crime,  and  demanding  to 
share  her  fate.  Then  came  another  to  plead  for  her, 
Creon's  son  Haemon,  who  was  betrothed  to  Antigone, 
and  loved  her  more  than  his  life.  Reverently  addressing 
his  father,  he  besought  him  to  consider  how  all  men 
would  cry  shame  on  him  for  such  cruelty:  the  Thebans 
murmured,  though  they  durst  not  speak  out,  mourning 
over  the  sister  that  little  deserved  death  for  her  care  not 
to  leave  a  brother's  body  to  wild  beasts.  King  as  he  was, 
let  him  remember  that  he  could  not  scorn  his  people's 
goodwill,  as  the  tree  that  holds  stiff  against  winds  and 
waves  comes  to  be  uprooted,  yet  might  stand  firm  by 
bending. 

"Would  the  boy  teach  me  wisdom?"  his  furious 
father  cut  him  short.     "  I  see  how  love  for  that  traitress 


212         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF   THEBES 

blinds  thee;  but  thou  shalt  not  have  my  foe  for  a  bride. 
Too  late  shall  she  learn  it  is  better  to  obey  the  living 
than  the  dead." 

When  Antigone  had  been  borne  off  to  her  doom, 
there  came  yet  another  to  bend  Creon*s  stubborn  will. 
This  was  the  blind  Tiresias,  whose  inner  vision  warned 
him  of  fresh  calamities  for  Thebes,  polluted  through  the 
innocent  fate  of  Antigone  and  the  sacrilegious  exposure 
of  Polynices  to  beasts  and  birds.  The  gods  were  wroth, 
he  declared,  at  the  wrong  thus  done  to  a  king's  children. 
But,  like  QEdipus,  the  king  spoke  bitterly  to  the  rebuking 
soothsayer. 

"  Who  hath  bribed  thee  to  scare  me  with  lying  augu- 
ries ? "  And  that  insult  stung  the  old  man  to  speak 
plain. 

"Before  the  sun  sets,  thou  shalt  pay  for  double 
impiety — yea,  two  corpses  for  one !  Their  blood  be  on 
thy  head!     Lead  me  far  from  him  who  defies  the  gods !" 

Without  another  word,  the  seer  turned  away,  leaning 
on  a  boy  who  had  brought  him  into  the  king's  presence. 
So  solemn  had  been  his  warning,  that  Creon,  left  alone, 
began  to  falter  in  his  ruthless  purpose.  He  called  the 
eldars  of  the  city  into  council,  and  of  them  deigned  at 
last  to  ask  what  he  should  do. 

"Bury  the  body  of  Polynices,  and  set  Antigone 
free  from  her  living  tomb!"  they  answered  with  one 
voice. 

Since  all  men  were  against  him,  Creon  sullenly  gave 
way.  He  ordered  Polynices  to  be  honourably  buried 
beside  his  brother,  and  went  himself  to  the  cave  in  which 
Antigone  had  been  walled  up.  Haemon,  her  lover,  ran 
on  first  of  the  crowd  bearing  axes  and  bars  to  set  her  free; 
then  peering  through  a  cleft,  he  uttered  a  lamentable  cry 
for  what  he  saw  within.     Too  late  the  wall  was  broken 


ANTIGONE  213 

down,  letting  all  see  how  the  noble  Antigone  had  strangled 
herself  with  her  veil  twisted  into  a  noose.  Haemon  in 
speechless  despair  drew  his  sword,  and,  before  the  father 
could  hold  his  hand,  had  fallen  upon  it  over  the  body  of 
his  beloved  one. 

When  his  mother,  Creon's  queen,  heard  what  had 
befallen,  she,  too,  killed  herself  for  grief;  thus  Tiresias 
spoke  truly  that,  before  the  sun  set,  the  king's  house 
should  pay  two  corpses  for  one.  All  the  city  was  one  cry 
of  mourning,  amid  which  the  bereaved  Creon  hardened 
his  heart,  and  in  his  gloomy  rage,  once  more  forbade  the 
burial  of  those  slain  foes  about  the  city. 

But  again  the  widowed  and  childless  king  had  to  bend 
his  obstinate  will.  Adrastus,  by  the  swiftness  of  his 
horse,  had  escaped  to  Athens,  and  as  a  suppliant  sought 
help  from  its  king,  nor  was  Theseus  deaf  to  his  prayer. 
With  a  strong  army  he  marched  to  Thebes,  summoning 
Creon  to  let  the  dead  be  buried,  that  their  spirits  should 
have  rest.  The  Thebans  were  in  no  heart  for  further 
fighting;  and  their  tyrant  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  con- 
sent. The  fallen  followers  of  those  seven  heroes  were 
heaped  into  seven  piles,  to  be  solemnly  burned  on  the 
field,  with  due  rites.  Of  Evadne,  the  widow  of  Capaneus, 
it  is  told  that  woe  drove  her  to  hurl  herself  upon  her 
husband's  funeral  pyre.  Over  the  ashes,  Theseus  built  a 
temple  to  Nemesis,  genius  of  Retribution;  then  he  with- 
drew with  his  allies;  and  for  a  time  Thebes  had  peace  to 
lament  its  evil  destiny. 


ai4         THE   TRAGEDIES   OF  THEBES 


VI.    The  Fatal  Heirlooms 

Thebes  was  still  to  suffer  from  the  bane  laid  on  Its 
kingly  house,  that  spread  far  beyond  its  own  soil.  Poly- 
nices  had  left  a  son,  Thersander,  to  grow  up  in  exile  at 
Argos.  When  years  had  passed,  he  and  other  sons  of 
the  heroes  slain  before  Thebes  began  to  hatch  revenge 
upon  the  hated  city,  and  made  against  it  a  new  war  known 
as  that  of  the  Epigoni,  or  offspring  of  the  Seven. 

Of  those  Seven,  Adrastus  was  still  alive,  but  too  old 
to  lead  the  army.  He  sought  counsel  of  the  oracle  at 
Delphi,  that  bid  choose  as  chief  Alcmaeon,  son  of  Amphi- 
araus,  the  seer.  But  Alcmaeon  shrank  from  this  honour 
put  upon  him,  while  also  the  oracle  reminded  him  how 
he  had  pledged  himself  to  revenge  upon  his  mother  Eri- 
phyle  the  death  of  his  father,  betrayed  by  her  to  death 
for  the  bribe  of  that  fatal  necklace,  but  his  dreadful  vow 
was  still  unfulfilled.  Eriphyle  had  some  strange  spell  to 
throw  over  the  will  of  her  son,  as  of  her  husband.  And, 
as  against  her  husband,  so  she  could  be  bribed  to  per- 
suade her  son.  Thersander  had  one  more  Cadmean  heir- 
loom to  bestow,  the  rich  veil  which  was  another  wedding 
gift  of  Aphrodite  to  Harmonia.  With  this  he  bought 
from  Eriphyle  that  she  should  win  over  her  son  to  lead 
the  Epigoni. 

Alcmaeon,  then,  consented  to  be  their  chief,  putting 
off  his  dark  purpose  to  slay  that  bewitching  mother.  He 
marched  to  Thebes,  where  this  time  the  war  went  for  its 
invaders.  The  Thebans  came  out  to  meet  them,  but 
were  driven  back  with  the  loss  of  their  leader  Laodamas, 
son  of  Eteocles.  The  blind  Tiresias,  now  over  a  hundred 
years  old,  gave  forth  the  worst  auguries.  He  bid  his 
fellow  citizens  send  out  a  herald  to  propose  terms  of 


THE   FATAL   HEIRLOOMS  215 

peace,  and  under  this  pretence,  to  fly  from  their  walls  by 
night.  So  they  did,  escaping  to  seek  new  homes  else- 
where. Thersander  entered  in  triumph  the  abandoned 
city,  where  now  he  ruled  as  the  last  heir  of  Cadmus,  and 
lived  to  fall  in  the  great  war  against  Troy. 

His  fate  was  happy  beside  that  of  Alcmaeon,  who 
went  back  victorious,  brooding  over  the  secret  vow  to 
slay  his  mother.  To  this  fell  duty,  he  believed  him- 
self urged  by  the  oracle ;  and  it  steeled  his  heart  when 
he  came  to  learn  how  she  had  been  bribed  by  the  veil 
of  Aphrodite  to  send  him  forth  in  arms.  He  slew  her 
with  his  own  hand,  thus  at  last  performing  the  long- 
deferred  pledge  to  his  father.  But  no  more  could  he 
live  in  the  home  made  horrible  to  him.  He  left  Argos 
and  wandered  forth  alone,  taking  with  him  those  crime- 
inspiring  gifts. 

Then,  wherever  he  went,  the  gods  frowned  on  him 
as  profaned  by  his  mother's  blood,  and  he  was  haunted 
by  the  Furies  into  restless  madness.  In  time  he  seemed 
to  be  at  peace  in  a  city  of  Arcadia,  whose  king  Phegeus 
did  purifying  rites  to  cleanse  him  from  his  guilt,  and 
gave  him  in  marriage  his  own  daughter  Arsinoe.  But 
though  his  madness  had  left  him,  the  curse  he  bore 
from  place  to  place  fell  upon  the  land  that  thus  granted 
Alcmaeon  asylum.  It  was  blighted  by  famine,  through 
his  pollution  of  it ;  so  said  the  oracle,  declaring  that  this 
exile  could  find  rest  only  on  ground  which  should  have 
arisen  since  he  took  his  mother's  life. 

Once  more  he  wandered  into  the  world,  leaving  with 
Arsinoe  those  fatal  gifts.  After  long  search,  he  found 
at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Achelous  an  island  newly 
sprung  above  the  water,  unseen  by  the  sun  when  he 
raised  his  hand  against  Eriphyle.  Here  he  fixed  him- 
self, and  seemed  now  to  be  free  from  his  curse. 


2i6         THE  TRAGEDIES   OF  THEBES 

Yet  fresh  troubles  came  with  relief  from  the  Furies* 
scourge.  Forgetting  his  wife  Arsinoe,  he  married 
Callirrhoe,  daughter  of  the  river-god  Achelous,  and  she 
bore  him  two  sons,  Acarnan  and  Amphoterus.  They 
might  have  lived  happily  but  for  Callirrhoe  hearing  of 
the  famous  necklace  and  veil  he  had  left  with  Arsinoe, 
which  she  coveted  so  as  to  give  her  husband  no  peace 
till  they  should  be  her  own. 

Driven  by  her  importunity,  Alcmaeon  went  back  to 
Arsinoe,  and  demanded  those  fatal  gifts  on  pretence  of 
offering  them  to  Apollo  at  Delphi,  as  a  sacrifice  by  which 
he  might  be  purged  of  the  madness  that,  as  he  feigned, 
alone  kept  him  apart  from  her.  Arsinoe  readily  gave  up 
her  treasures,  which  he  was  for  carrying  off"  to  his  new 
home.  But  a  disloyal  servant  betrayed  to  her  father 
how  his  master  had  another  wife,  to  be  decked  with  the 
gifts  of  Aphrodite.  Arsinoe's  two  brothers  followed 
Alcmaeon,  slew  him  taken  at  unawares,  and  brought 
back  the  necklace  and  the  veil  to  their  sister.  She,  who 
loved  her  false  husband  still,  gave  them  such  bitter 
thanks  for  that  service,  that  her  also  they  sent  to  death, 
cruelly  and  shamefully,  in  their  wrath  at  the  dishonour 
done  to  their  house. 

And  still  the  flow  of  blood  was  not  stanched.  When 
Callirrhoe  came  to  know  how  she  had  been  deceived 
and  bereaved,  beside  herself  with  rage,  she  prayed  Zeus, 
by  her  kinship  with  the  gods,  to  make  her  two  boys 
grow  up  at  once  to  men  that  they  might  lose  not 
a  day  in  avenging  their  father.  Zeus  nodded  consent ; 
and  the  sons  who  lay  down  careless  children  rose  next 
morning  bearded  men,  stern  and  strong.  Setting  out 
forthwith  on  their  errand  of  bloodshed,  they  fell  upon 
Arsinoe's  brothers  carrying  her  necklace  and  veil  to 
Delphi.      Acarnan    and  Amphoterus    killed   them   both, 


THE   FATAL   HEIRLOOMS  217 

before  they  knew  they  were  in  danger ;  then  went  on  to 
root  out  their  father's  house. 

Thus  the  fatal  gifts  at  last  came  to  Callirrhoe.  But 
her  father,  the  wise  Achelous,  would  have  none  of  their 
baneful  charm.  He  bid  carry  them,  after  all,  to  Delphi, 
to  be  hung  up  in  the  temple  of  Apollo ;  and  this  being 
done,  the  curse,  passed  on  through  the  Cadmean  house, 
was  charmed  away  from  the  race  of  Amphiaraus,  whose 
grandson,  Acarnan,  settled  the  Acarnanian  land,  as 
Cadmus  had  been  founder  of  Thebes. 


(C288) 


ECHO   AND   NARCISSUS 

To  the  river-god  Ceohissus  was  born  a  son  named 
Narcissus,  who  seemed  to  his  fond  mother  the  most 
beautiful  of  children,  and  anxiously  she  sought  from  the 
blind  prophet  Tiresias  to  know  his  fate. 

"Will  he  live  to  old  age?"  she  asked;  to  which 
the  dark-seeing  prophet  made  answer — "  If  he  shall  not 
have  known  himself!" 

What  these  mystic  words  meant,  time  only  would 
show.  The  boy  grew  up  rarely  beautiful,  not  only  in 
his  mother's  eyes  but  in  all  that  were  not  blind.  There 
was  no  maiden  but  cast  loving  looks  upon  him ;  and 
less  favoured  youths  must  envy  the  charms  that,  alas ! 
made  Narcissus  vain  above  all  sons  of  earth.  Blushes, 
sighs,  and  sparkling  eyes  were  heeded  by  him  but  as 
tributes  to  his  loveliness ;  and  when  he  had  bloomed 
to  the  flower  of  manhood,  he  was  in  love  with  himself 
alone. 

Shunning  all  who  would  fain  have  been  his  com- 
panions, it  was  his  wont  to  walk  apart  in  solitary  places, 
lost  in  admiration  of  the  graceful  form  which  he  thought 
no  eye  worthy  to  behold  but  his  own.  One  day,  as  he 
wandered  through  a  wood,  unawares  he  was  spied  by  the 
wood-nymph  Echo,  who  loved  him  at  first  sight,  but  was 
dumb  to  open  her  heart  till  he  should  ask  its  secret. 
For  on  her  a  strange  fate  had  been  laid :  Hera,  displeased 
by  her  chattering  tongue,  took  away  from  her  the  power 

818 


ECHO   AND   NARCISSUS  219 

of  speech  unless  in  answer  to  some  other  voice.  So  now, 
when  Echo  slunk  lightly  among  the  thickets,  shadow- 
ing the  steps  of  that  beautiful  youth,  eager  as  she  was 
to  accost  him,  she  must  wait  for  him  to  speak  first,  nor 
durst  she  show  herself  but  at  his  desire.  But  he,  given 
up  to  his  sweet  thoughts  of  self,  strolled  on  silently,  and 
the  maiden  followed  him  lovingly,  unseen,  till  at  last, 
as  he  halted  to  drink  from  a  cool  spring,  his  ear  was 
caught  by  a  rustle  in  the  branches. 

"  Who  is  there  ? "  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  eyes  to 
peer  into  the  green  shade. 

^^  There!"  came  echoed  back;  but  he  saw  not  who 
spoke. 

"What  do  you  fear.-^"  he  asked;  and  the  invisible 
voice  answered — 

''Fear!'' 

"  Come  forth  here ! "  he  cried  in  amazement,  when 
thus  his  words  were  given  mockingly  back  to  him ;  and 
still  the  voice  took  no  shape. 

''Here!''  was  the  reply;  and  now  glided  forth  the 
blushing  Echo,  to  make  as  if  she  would  have  thrown 
her  arms  round  his  neck. 

But  in  the  crystal  pool  the  youth  had  caught  another 
form  that  better  pleased  his  eyes  ;  and  he  roughly  brushed 
away  the  enamoured  nymph,  with  a  harsh  word. 

"What  brings  you?" 

"Ton!"  she  faltered,  shrinking  back  from  his  frown. 

"Begone!"  he  bid  her  angrily.  "There  can  be 
nothing  between  such  as  you  and  the  fair  Narcissus." 

"Narcissus!"  sighed  Echo,  scarcely  heard,  and  stole 
away  on  tiptoe  to  hide  her  shameful  looks  in  the  deep 
shade,  breathing  a  silent  prayer  that  this  proud  youth 
might  learn  for  himself  what  it  was  to  love  in  vain. 

When  left  alone,  Narcissus  turned  eagerly  back  to 


220  ECHO   AND   NARCISSUS 

that  spring  in  which  he  believed  to  have  seen  a  fairer 
face.  Like  a  silver  mirror  it  lay,  shining  in  sunlight, 
framed  by  a  ring  of  flowery  plants,  as  if  to  guard  it 
from  the  plashing  tread  of  cattle.  On  his  knees  at  the 
edge,  he  stretched  himself  over  the  bright  well,  and  there 
looked  down  upon  a  face  and  form  so  entrancingly  beau- 
tiful, that  he  was  ready  to  leap  into  the  water  beside  it. 
A  priceless  statue  it  seemed,  of  one  at  his  own  bloom- 
ing age,  every  limb  chiselled  like  life,  with  features  as 
of  breathing  marble,  and  curling  locks  that  hung  above 
ivory  shoulders. 

"Who  art  thou  that  hast  been  made  so  fair.?"  cried 
Narcissus ;  and  the  lips  of  the  image  moved,  yet  now 
came  no  answer. 

He  smiled,  and  was  smiled  back  to.  He  flushed 
for  delight,  then  the  face  in  the  water  was  overspread 
with  rosy  blood,  its  eyes  sparkling  like  his  own.  He 
stretched  out  his  hands  towards  it,  and  so  the  beautiful 
form  beckoned  to  him  ;  but  as  soon  as  his  touch  broke 
the  clear  surface,  it  vanished  like  a  dream,  to  return  in 
all  its  enchantment  while  he  was  content  to  gaze  motion- 
less, then  again  growing  dim  beneath  the  tears  of  vexation 
he  shed  into  the  water. 

"  I  am  not  one  to  be  despised,*'  he  pleaded  with  his 
coy  charmer,  "  but  such  a  one  as  mortal  maidens  and 
nymphs,  too,  have  loved  in  vain." 

"  Vain ! "  resounded  the  sad  voice  of  Echo  from  the 
woods. 

Again  and  again  he  leaned  down  to  clasp  that  lovely 
shadow  in  his  arms,  but  always  it  eluded  him  ;  and  when 
he  spoke  entreating  it  to  his  embrace,  it  but  simulated 
his  gestures  in  unfeeling  silence.  Maddened  by  so 
strong  allurement  of  his  own  likeness,  he  could  not  tear 
himself  away  from  the  mirror  in  which  it  ever  mocked 


ECHO   AND   NARCISSUS  221 

his  yearning  fancy.  "Alas!"  was  his  constant  cry,  that 
always  came  sighing  back  from  the  retreats  of  the  woeful 
nymph.  Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  he  hung  over 
the  pool's  brink,  nor  cared  to  let  food  pass  his  lips, 
crying  all  in  vain  for  that  imaginary  object  of  adoration, 
till  at  last  his  heart  ceased  to  throb  with  despair,  and  he 
lay  still  among  the  water  lilies  that  made  his  shroud. 
The  gods  themselves  could  not  but  be  touched  with 
pity  for  so  fair  a  corse ;  and  thus  was  Narcissus  trans- 
formed into  the  flower  that  bears  his  name. 

As  for  poor  Echo,  who  had  invoked  such  punish- 
ment on  his  cold  heart,  she  gained  nothing  but  grief 
that  her  prayer  was  heard.  Out  of  sight,  she  pined  away 
for  despised  love,  till  all  left  of  her  was  an  idle  voice. 
And  that  still  haunts  the  rocks  where  never  since  can 
she  be  seen  by  startled  eyes ;  but  always  she  must  be 
allowed  the  last  word. 

This  was  not  the  only  tale  told  of  Echo's  bootless 
love,  for  of  old,  too,  love  went  often  blind  and  deaf 

"  Pan  loved  his  neighbour  Echo — but  that  child 
Of  Earth  and  Air  pined  for  the  Satyr  leaping; 
The  Satyr  loved  v^^ith  vv^asting  madness  wild 
The  bright  nymph  Lyda, — and  so  three  went  weeping: 
As  Pan  loved  Echo,  Echo  loved  the  Satyr, 
The  Satyr,  Lyda — and  thus  love  consumed  them. 
And  thus  to  each — which  was  a  woeful  matter — 
To  bear  what  they  inflicted,  justice  doom'd  them; 
For  inasmuch  as  each  might  hate  the  lover. 
Each  loving,  so  was  hated. — Ye  that  love  not 
Be  warn'd — in  thought  turn  this  example  over, 
That  when  ye  love,  the  like  return  ye  prove  not." 

— Moschus,  trans,  by  Shelley, 


THE    SACRED   OAK 

Every  forest  tree  was  held  in  respect  by  the  men  of 
old,  for  they  could  not  be  sure  but  that  it  were  the  home 
of  some  Dryad  or  other  woodland  nymph,  whose  life 
hung  upon  its  flourishing.  So  poor  Dryope  learned  to 
her  woe,  when,  plucking  a  bright  blossom  for  her  child, 
she  saw  the  sap  run  red,  then  found  her  own  limbs 
putting  forth  leaves  and  flowers,  as  on  the  spot  she 
became  turned  into  a  tree  by  the  wrath  of  a  nymph 
she  had  unwittingly  wounded;  and  in  vain  she  struggled 
to  fly :  rooted  to  the  ground,  she  felt  her  voice  failing, 
as  with  her  last  human  words  she  begged  that  the  child 
might  often  be  brought  to  play  beneath  the  sighing  shade 
of  her  branches.  Of  many  another  hapless  maid  was  it 
told  that  she  suff^ered  the  same  fate,  like  Daphne  who, 
as  a  laurel,  escaped  the  pursuit  of  Apollo,  or  like  that 
Thracian  Phyllis,  betrothed  to  Demophoon,  son  of 
Theseus,  but  when  he  tarried  away  from  her  too  long, 
she  killed  herself  in  hasty  despair,  and  was  transformed 
as  a  tree,  hallowed  by  her  overpowering  love. 

Bold  was  the  crime  and  prodigious  the  punishment 
of  Erysichthon,  he  that  recklessly  laid  low  a  huge  and 
venerable  oak  sacred  to  Demeter,  in  honour  of  whom 
the  light-footed  Dryads  came  often  to  dance  round  it  in 
a  moonlit  ring.  A  giant  it  was  among  trees,  towering 
high  above  its  fellows,  as  they  above  the  bushes,  its 
branches   thickly  hung  with  votive  tablets  and  garlands 

822 


THE   SACRED   OAK  223 

in  sign  of  gratitude  to  the  beneficent  goddess.  Yet 
that  presumptuous  churl  bid  his  servants  hew  it  down; 
and,  when  they  hesitated  in  awe,  himself  snatched  an 
axe  to  fetch  the  first  stroke,  crying — 

"  Were  it  the  goddess  herself,  to  the  ground  her  tree 
shall  come ! " 

The  mossy  bark  gave  out  a  deep  groan  as  it  felt  the 
blow ;  the  leaves  turned  pale ;  the  branches  trembled 
and  dripped  with  sweat ;  blood  burst  from  the  trunk 
at  every  wound.  The  horrified  bystanders  vainly  be- 
sought Erysichthon  to  throw  down  the  axe.  He  struck 
one  of  them  dead  who  would  have  held  his  hand,  and 
kept  urging  on  his  thralls  to  the  impious  task,  till  at 
last  the  sacred  oak  fell  with  a  crash  echoing  far  around 
to  drown  the  dying  voice  of  the  nymph  that  was  its 
indwelling  spirit. 

To  Demeter  hastened  the  mourning  Dryads  of  the 
grove ;  nor  was  the  goddess  deaf  to  their  prayers  for 
vengeance  on  the  destroyer.  She  sent  an  Oread  to  fetch 
Famine  from  the  ice-bound  deserts  of  the  north;  and 
this  gaunt  shape  she  charged  to  plague  the  life  of 
Erysichthon.  As,  weary  from  his  day's  bad  work,  he 
lay  dreaming  of  costly  banquets,  Famine  hovered  over 
him  and  breathed  into  his  vitals  a  madness  of  insatiable 
greed. 

He  woke  up  with  a  raging  hunger  which  no  food 
could  stay.  The  more  he  devoured,  the  more  ravenous 
he  felt,  as  if  every  mouthful  but  added  fuel  to  the  flame 
of  his  appetite.  In  vain  his  table  was  loaded  with  all 
the  fruits  of  the  earth,  with  the  flesh  of  every  creature 
that  ran,  or  swam,  or  flew;  whatever  he  ate  was  lost  like 
the  rivers  in  the  sea,  and  he  never  could  have  enough 
to  appease  the  greed  that  tormented  him  night  and  day. 
When  he  had  swallowed  what  would  feed  whole  towns, 


224  THE   SACRED   OAK 

he  still  felt  hungry,  as  he  vainly  toiled  to  fill  himself 
with  emptiness.  Thus  the  Dryads  were  avenged,  while 
their  beloved  tree  went  to  feed  cooking  fires  that  burned 
not  so  fast  as  his  unquenchable  voracity. 

"  More !  More ! "  was  his  cry,  if  ever  he  had  to  wait 
a  moment  for  the  morsels  that  choked  him  into  silence. 

The  once  rich  man  was  not  long  in  eating  himself 
poor.  He  had  to  sell  his  land,  his  goods,  his  house ; 
and  still  unavailing  gluttony  preyed  on  him  like  a 
.vulture.  The  day  came  when  he  had  nothing  left  but 
his  only  daughter ;  and  her,  too,  he  sold  as  a  slave  to 
buy  food  with  the  price  of  her.  And  this  resource  she 
could  spin  out  through  the  favour  of  Poseidon,  who 
had  bestowed  upon  her  the  power  of  changing  herself 
into  whatever  form  she  pleased.  Once  in  the  hands 
of  a  master,  she  could  soon  slip  out  of  them  in  some 
transforming  disguise — a  horse,  a  cow,  a  hind,  a  bird, 
or  what  not — and  make  her  way  back  to  the  famishing 
father  that  he  might  sell  her  again  to  play  the  same 
trick  on  some  other  purchaser. 

But  at  last  her  tricks  wore  themselves  out,  the  story 
says  not  how;  and  the  unhappy  man  had  nothing  for  it 
but  to  devour  his  own  flesh,  consuming  himself  in  less 
time  than  it  had  taken  to  hew  down  that  sacred  oak. 
So  he  perished  miserably;  but  his  name  lives  as  a  warning 
to  men  who  mind  not  what  is  dear  to  the  gods. 


THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

I.   Paris  and  Helen 

The  father  of  the  Trojan  race  was  Dardanus,  who- 
wandered  across  the  Hellespont  into  Mysia,  and  married 
a  daughter  of  the  shepherd  king  Teucer.  Their  grand- 
son Tros  had  a  son  named  Ilus;  and  on  a  height  by  the 
river  Scamander  he  built  a  city  named  Troy,  or  Ilion, 
or  sometimes  Pergamum,  the  "  tower  ",  its  people  known 
as  TeucrianSj  Dardanians,  or  most  famously  as  Trojans. 
For  his  new  seat  Ilus  besought  of  Zeus  some  sign  of 
favour ;  and  in  answer  fell  from  heaven  an  image  of 
Pallas -Athene  which,  under  the  title  of  the  Palladium, 
was  to  be  treasured  as  the  luck  of  Troy. 

But  soon  Troy  had  ill  luck,  brought  upon  it  by  the 
son  of  Ilus,  Laomedon,  a  crooked-minded  king  dealing 
falsely  both  with  gods  and  men.  He  it  was  who  gave 
walls  to  the  city,  and  for  that  task  hired  Apollo  and 
Poseidon,  when,  driven  from  Olympus  by  the  displeasure 
of  Zeus,  they  had  been  condemned  for  a  year  to  serve 
some  mortal  upon  earth.  Poseidon  surrounded  Troy 
with  strong  walls,  while  Apollo  pastured  the  king's  herds 
in  the  valleys  of  Mount  Ida.  But  after  their  year's 
service  was  up,  Laomedon  denied  them  the  promised 
reward,  driving  them  away  with  threats  and  insults,  so 
that,  when  restored  to  their  place  in  heaven,  these  gods 
bore  a  bitter  grudge  against  Troy,  by  one  of  them  never 
forgotten. 

(C288)  226  9^ 


226  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

Before  long,  Poseidon's  ill  will  was  shown,  for  he 
sent  to  lay  waste  the  land  a  ravening  monster  that 
could  be  driven  away,  spoke  an  oracle,  only  by  the 
sacrifice  of  the  king's  daughter  Hesione.  She  was 
already  chained  to  a  rock  as  its  trembling  victim,  when 
to  Troy  in  the  nick  of  time  came  Hercules,  who  under- 
took to  deliver  her,  as  he  did  by  slaying  the  monster 
among  his  many  feats  and  labours.  For  this  deliver- 
ance Laomedon  had  promised  him  a  team  of  matchless 
horses  given  by  Zeus  to  his  grandfather  Tros.  But,  the 
monster  slain,  again  this  deceitful  king  broke  faith,  and 
Hercules  angrily  went  his  way  without  the  horses,  being 
bound  to  the  service  of  Eurystheus. 

Years  later,  the  hero  came  back  to  take  vengeance 
for  that  deceit.  He  stormed  the  city,  killed  its  faith- 
less king,  and  gave  Hesione  to  his  own  follower  Tela- 
mon,  who  carried  her  away  to  Salamis  in  Greece.  But 
at  Hesione's  entreaty  he  let  her  ransom  one  of  her 
brothers,  Podarces,  "  the  swift-footed  ",  who,  now  under 
the  name  of  Priam,  "  the  ransomed ",  became  king  of 
Troy. 

Priam  and  his  wife  Hecuba  had  many  children.  The 
noblest  of  her  sons  was  Hector,  but  the  comeliest  Paris, 
before  whose  birth  Hecuba  dreamed  that  she  bore  a  fire- 
brand. That  dream  being  interpreted  by  a  seer  as  fore- 
telling destruction  for  Troy,  Priam  and  Hecuba  agreed 
to  save  the  city  by  exposing  the  helpless  babe  to  death 
on  the  heights  of  Mount  Ida;  and  so  was  done  through 
the  hands  of  a  slave. 

But  Paris  did  not  die.  Suckled  by  a  bear,  they  say, 
the  child  was  found  alive  after  some  days,  and  reared 
among  their  own  sons  by  the  herdsmeh  of  Mount  Ida. 
In  this  rude  life  he  grew  up  hearty,  handsome,  and 
strong,    a   youth    of   mark    above    his    fellows,    though 


PARIS   AND   HELEN  227 

Ignorant  that  he  was  a  king's  son.  When  he  came  to 
manhood  he  did  such  feats  against  the  robbers  of  the 
mountains,  that  he  won  for  himself  the  by-name  of 
Alexander,  "helper  of  men".  He  married  the  mountain 
nymph  CEnone,  and  for  a  time  lived  happy  among  the 
herds,  content  with  his  simple  lot  and  humble  home. 

"  There  lies  a  vale  in  Ida,  lovelier 
Than  all  the  valleys  of  Ionian  hills. 
The  swimming  vapour  slopes  athwart  the  glen, 
Puts  forth  an  arm,  and  creeps  from  pine  to  pine. 
And  loiters,  slowly  drawn.     On  either  hand, 
The  lawns  and  meadow  ledges  midway  down 
Hang  rich  in  flowers,  and  far  below  them  roars 
The  long  brook  falling  thro'  the  clov'n  ravine 
In  cataract  after  cataract  to  the  sea. 
Behind  the  valley  topmost  Gargarus 
Stands  up  and  takes  the  morning:  but  in  front 
The  gorges,  opening  wide  apart,  reveal 
Troas  and  Ilion's  columned  citadel, 
The  crown  of  Troas."  — Tennyson. 

One  day,  as  Paris  fed  his  flocks  in  such  a  leafy  glen 
of  Mount  Ida,  there  appeared  to  him  three  stately  and 
beautiful  women,  whom,  even  before  hearing  their  names, 
he  was  aware  of  as  more  than  mortal.  With  them  came 
a  noble  form,  whose  winged  feet  and  the  herald's  staff 
he  bore  showed  him  no  other  than  Hermes,  messenger 
of  the  gods.  In  their  presence  the  shepherd  stood  with 
beating  heart  and  awestruck  eyes,  while  Hermes  thus 
addressed  him. — 

"  Fear  not,  Paris ;  these  are  goddesses  that  have 
chosen  thee  to  award  among  them  the  prize  of  beauty. 
Zeus  himself  bids  thee  judge  freely  which  of  the  three 
seems  fairest  in  thine  eyes;  and  the  father  of  gods  and 
men  will  be  thy  shield  In  giving  true  judgment." 

With  this  the  god  put  into  his  hands  a  golden  apple. 


228  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

At  the  wedding  of  Peleus  and  Thetis,  parents  of  Achilles, 
Eris  alone  among  the  immortals  had  not  been  bidden 
to  the  feast;  then  the  slighted  goddess  of  strife  threw 
among  the  guests  this  golden  apple,  inscribed  For  the 
fairest!  As  was  her  design,  three  daughters  of  Olympus 
had  quarrelled  to  which  it  should  belong;  and  now  they 
came  agreed  to  take  the  judgment  of  that  bright-eyed 
shepherd,  who  stood  before  them  scarcely  daring  to  raise 
his  eyes  till  they  heartened  him  with  appealing  voices. 

"  I  am  Hera,  the  queen  of  Olympus,"  spoke  the 
proudest  of  the  three,  "and  I  have  queenly  gifts  to 
bestow  on  the  humblest  mortal.  Give  judgment  for  me, 
and,  shepherd  lad  as  thou  art,  thine  shall  be  the  richest 
realm  on  earth  ! " 

"  I  am  Athene,  goddess  of  arts,"  said  the  second. 
"Adjudge  the  prize  to  me,  and  thine  shall  be  fame  as 
the  wisest  and  bravest  among  men ! " 

"  I  am  Aphrodite,"  said  the  third,  with  an  enchant- 
ing smile,  "and  I  have  gifts  sweeter  than  these.  He 
who  wins  my  favour  need  only  love  to  be  loved  again. 
Choose  me  for  the  fairest  among  gods,  and  I  promise 
thee  the  most  beautiful  daughter  of  men  as  thy  wife ! " 

Paris  might  well  stand  in  doubt  before  three  so 
dazzling  claimants;  but  he  did  not  hesitate  long.  He 
gave  the  golden  apple  to  the  goddess  of  love,  who 
thanked  him  with  a  radiant  smile,  and  confirmed  her 
promise  by  an  oath  such  as  not  even  gods  may  break. 
But  Hera  and  Athene  turned  frowning  away,  and  hence- 
forth were  enemies  to  all  the  Trojan  race. 

The  glorious  vision  having  vanished,  it  now  seemed 
to  Paris  like  a  dream  amid  the  toils  of  his  daily  life,  in 
which  he  might  have  forgotten  the  promise  of  Aphrodite. 
As  yet  he  knew  no  woman  fairer  than  his  loved  wife. 
But  soon  came  a  change  in  his  fortunes,  when  he  despised 


PARIS  AND   HELEN  229 

poor  CEnone,  and  left  her  to  weep  out  her  broken  heart 
upon  the  wild  mountain  side. 

For  the  first  time  since  his  birth,  Paris  went  down 
to  the  city  of  Troy  to  try  his  strength  in  games  held 
there  by  King  Priam.  As  prize  of  one  of  the  contests 
was  proclaimed  the  herdsman's  favourite  steer,  and  he 
could  not  bear  to  think  of  its  passing  into  the  hands 
of  a  stranger.  Not  only  that  prize  he  won  but  others, 
surpassing  even  the  king's  sons,  his  own  brothers  as 
they  were,  had  he  but  known  it.  They,  for  their  part, 
might  guess  him  to  be  no  common  clown,  that  bore 
himself  above  them  all.  One  of  his  sisters,  Cassandra, 
had  the  gift  of  divination;  and  she  it  was  who  recog- 
nized in  this  sunburnt  mountaineer  the  child  cast  forth 
to  die;  then  his  parents  were  too  glad  of  such  a  goodly 
son  to  remember  what  had  been  foretold  of  him  by  the 
oracle. 

Thus  restored  to  his  birthright,  Paris  came  to  stand 
so  high  in  Priam's  favour,  that  the  king  sent  him  to 
Greece  in  command  of  a  great  fleet,  charged  to  demand 
that  Hesione,  borne  off  by  Hercules,  should  be  given 
back  to  her  home,  after  many  years.  Alone  Cassandra 
denounced  this  expedition,  foretelling  how  a  quarrel  with 
the  Greeks  would  bring  them  against  Troy;  but  Apollo, 
who  had  bestowed  on  her  the  gift  of  prophecy,  had  again 
cursed  it  with  the  fate  that  her  warnings  should  never 
be  taken  for  true. 

Paris  sailed  forth,  full  of  hope  and  pride,  on  an 
errand  he  did  not  perform.  For  he  turned  aside  to 
visit  Menelaus,  king  of  Sparta,  married  to  Helen,  the 
most  beautiful  woman  on  earth.  At  the  first  sight  of 
this  handsome  stranger,  richly  arrayed  in  purple  and 
gold,  Helen  was  ready  to  forget  her  marriage  vows. 
And  when  his  eyes   met    hers,  he  forgot  his   true  wife 


230  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

CEnone,  weeping  lonely  on  Mount  Ida^  forgot  his 
father's  commands,  forgot  his  own  honour ;  he  forgot 
all  but  the  enchanting  face  which  he  was  ready  to  take 
for  that  of  the  goddess  herself — alas !  to  be  famed  for 
ages  as 

"  The  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships, 
And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium  ". 

The  honest  heart  of  Menelaus  was  so  trustful  that, 
going  upon  some  expedition,  he  left  his  guest  with  his 
queen,  to  steal  one  another's  love  by  soft  words  and 
kindling  looks.  He  was  soon  to  learn  how  ill  that  long- 
haired Eastern  prince  could  be  trusted.  Before  the  king 
came  back,  Paris  had  fled,  after  breaking  into  his  house 
by  force,  carrying  off  its  treasures  to  the  Trojan  fleet, 
among  them  the  dearest  of  all,  the  wife  so  little  un- 
willing to  follow  a  new  master,  that  she  left  behind  the 
young  daughter  Hermione  she  had  borne  to  Menelaus. 

With  such  a  prize  on  board,  the  love -sick  prince 
no  longer  minded  the  mission  on  which  he  had  been 
sent  by  his  father.  Now  that  Aphrodite  had  fulfilled 
her  promise,  he  gave  himself  up  to  dalliance  with  this 
fairest  of  all  mortal  fair  ones.  It  was  long  before 
he  steered  for  Troy  to  show  her  with  pride  to  his  own 
people.  Spending  the  stolen  wealth  of  Menelaus  in 
idle  pleasure,  these  two  would  fain  forget  their  kin  and 
country.  Yet  Paris  went  not  without  warning.  As  he 
sailed  over  a  summer  sea,  of  a  sudden  it  grew  so  calm 
that  the  ship  seemed  nailed  to  the  water,  from  which 
rose  the  sea-god  Nereus  with  dripping  hair  and  beard, 
to  utter  fearful  words. 

"  111  omens  guide  thy  course,  robber  of  another's 
good !  The  Greeks  will  come  across  this  sea,  vowed 
to  redress  the  wrong  done  by  thee  and  to  overthrow 


THE   GATHERING   AT  AULIS  231 

the  towers  of  Priam.  How  many  men,  how  many 
horses  I  foresee  dead  for  thy  sin,  how  many  Trojans 
laid  low  about  the  ruin  of  their  city!" 

II.  The  Gathering  at  Aulis 

Helen's  matchless  beauty  had  drawn  about  her  in 
youth  so  many  hot  suitors  that  they  prudently  bound 
themselves  by  an  oath  to  honour  whatever  husband 
might  be  chosen  for  her,  and  to  stand  by  him  against 
any  who  should  wrong  his  wedlock.  So  when  Menelaus 
learned  how  his  wife  had  been  stolen,  he  could  call  on 
a  host  of  fellow  rulers  to  take  arms  for  recovering  her 
and  punishing  that  violator  of  his  home.  He  and  his 
elder  brother  Agamemnon,  king  of  Argos,  sons  of  Atreus 
and  descendants  of  Pelops,  were  the  mightiest  lords  in 
the  Peloponnesus.  Agamemnon,  husband  of  Helen's 
sister  Clytemnestra,  stood  out  as  greatest  above  all  the 
kings  of  Greece;  and  when  he  summoned  its  princes  to 
gather  their  ships  and  men  for  war  with  Troy,  few  ven- 
tured to  slight  his  command.  Two  of  the  chiefs,  indeed, 
held  back  at  first,  yet  they  were  the  two  who  in  the 
end  would  be  most  famous  among  the  champions  of  that 
war. 

One  of  these  was  Odysseus  {Ulysses)^  who,  having 
married  a  loving  wife,  Penelope,  was  loath  to  quit  her 
and  his  young  son  Telemachus  for  a  war  which  he 
foresaw  as  long  and  toilsome.  So  when  Palamedes, 
friend  of  Menelaus,  came  with  Agamemnon's  summons 
to  the  rocky  island  of  Ithaca,  its  crafty  chief  feigned  to 
be  out  of  his  mind,  in  token  of  which  he  was  found 
ploughing  with  an  ox  and  an  ass  strangely  yoked  to- 
gether, and  sowing  salt  in  the  furrows.  But  Palamedes, 
too,  was  wily.     He  brought  out  the  child  Telemachus 


232  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

to  lay  him  in  front  of  the  plough,  then  the  father  so 
carefully  turned  it  aside  as  to  show  himself  no  madman. 
It  is  said  that  Odysseus  never  forgave  that  trick,  though 
he  seemed  to  forget  it,  and  that  years  afterwards  he 
took  a  chance  of  working  fatal  vengeance  on  Palamedes. 
But  now,  betrayed  out  of  his  pretence,  he  had  to  go  with 
him  to  the  gathering  host,  for  which  he  soon  could  enlist 
a  nobler  champion. 

Achilles  was  son  of  Peleus,  a  mortal  married  to  the 
goddess  Thetis,  at  whose  wedding  Eris  threw  down 
among  the  gifts  that  golden  apple  to  be  the  seed  of  so 
much  strife.  His  mother  foretold  that  either  he  might 
die  young  after  heroic  deeds,  or  live  long  in  ignoble 
ease ;  and  eagerly  the  boy  chose  a  short  and  glorious 
life.  She  sought  to  make  him  invulnerable  by  dipping 
him  in  the  water  of  Styx ;  then  the  heel  by  which  she 
held  him  remained  the  one  mortal  spot  in  his  body. 
He  was  brought  up  with  other  heroes  by  old  Cheiron, 
who  fed  him  on  the  hearts  of  lions  and  the  marrow  of 
bears,  and  taught  him  gentle  arts  as  well  as  the  stern 
trade  of  war.  Among  all  his  companions  he  was  noted 
for  courage  and  pride,  for  generosity  and  hot  temper, 
as  for  strength,  beauty,  and  activity  that  won  him  such 
epithets  as  the  "  swift-footed  ",  and  the  "  yellow-haired  " 
Achilles. 

When  the  Trojan  war  was  hatching,  Thetis,  aware 
that  it  should  lead  him  to  his  death,  would  fain  have 
kept  her  son  away.  So  she  sent  him,  dressed  as  a 
maiden,  to  be  hidden  among  the  daughters  of  the  king 
of  Scyros.  There  cunning  Odysseus  sought  him  out 
in  the  disguise  of  a  merchant,  who  among  rich  clothes 
and  other  womanish  gauds  carried  a  store  of  bright 
weapons ;  then,  while  the  true  women  had  eyes  only 
for  ftdornments^  Achilles  revealed  himself  by  snatching 


I 


THE   GATHERING  AT  AULIS  233 

at  sword  and  spear  among  all  those  wares.  His  sex  thus 
disclosed,  it  was  not  hard  for  Odysseus  to  bring  him 
to  the  army,  leading  a  band  of  warlike  and  devoted 
Myrmidons  from  his  native  Thessaly. 

Another  service  the  Ithacan  prince  undertook  in 
going  with  Palamedes  and  Menelaus  as  an  embassy  to 
demand  of  Priam  that  Helen  should  be  given  back. 
The  king  of  Troy  and  his  people  heard  them  with 
amazement,  as  now  for  the  first  time  they  learned  what 
Paris  had  done  in  Greece ;  and  Priam  would  give  no 
answer  till  his  son  came  home  to  speak  for  himself. 
For  his  part,  he  had  to  complain  of  his  sister  Hesione 
held  captive,  for  whom  Helen  might  rightly  be  kept  a 
hostage,  if  she  were  brought  to  Troy.  And  while  the 
father  tried  to  speak  them  fair,  to  the  threats  of  these 
Greeks  the  Trojan  princes  gave  back  high  words,  so 
that  they  had  almost  come  to  blows  had  not  grey  heads 
checked  the  hot  blood  of  youth.  The  ambassadors, 
courteously  treated  and  put  under  guard  against  the 
insolence  of  the  common  folk,  had  to  depart  without 
their  errand,  bearing  messages  of  defiance  that  made  not 
for  peace.  As  to  Hesione,  they  told  Priam  how  she 
was  long  happily  married  in  Greece,  and  that  her  son 
Teucer  was  among  the  leaders  of  the  host  gathering  to 
take  vengeance  on  Troy. 

After  long  lingering  in  foreign  lands  and  seas,  Paris 
brought  home  that  bewitching  bride,  over  whom  the  old 
king  shook  his  head,  and  would  fain  have  frowned  on 
the  darling  son  who  had  so  ill  done  his  mission  in 
Greece.  But  his  brothers,  bribed  by  the  wealth  Paris 
had  stolen  from  Sparta,  and  by  the  smiles  of  Helen's 
handmaidens  given  to  those  still  unmarried,  were  loud 
against  letting  her  go  back  to  Menelaus.  Their  mother 
Heguba  was  set  to   l^arn    from    her   own  lips  whether 


234  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

she  followed  Paris  by  free  will ;  and  when  Priam  heard 
that  it  was  so,  he  agreed  with  his  sons  to  defend  her 
against  all  the  power  of  Greece.  His  people  feared  the 
trials  of  the  war  now  threatened ;  and  as  Paris  strode 
through  the  streets  of  Troy,  many  a  stifled  curse  followed 
him,  who  cared  not  that  he  brought  such  woe  upon  the 
city;  yet  even  the  grey-beards  who  frowned  on  Helen 
could  not  but  turn  their  heads  to  look  after  so  lovely 
a  stranger.  But  the  princes  were  deaf  to  the  ominous 
warnings  of  their  sister  Cassandra.  Among  them  Hector 
stood  out  as  chief  leader,  now  that  his  father  was  too 
old  for  war ;  and  of  the  allies  Troy  called  to  its  aid,  the 
most  illustrious  was  Priam's  son-in-law,  -^neas,  prince  of 
the  neighbouring  Dardanians,  who  had  no  less  a  mother 
than  Aphrodite. 

Meanwhile,  the  Greek  ambassadors  had  returned  to 
Aulis,  a  harbour  on  the  Euripus,  where  more  than  a 
thousand  ships  were  gathered  to  carry  a  hundred  thou- 
sand warriors  across  the  sea.  Years  had  passed  before 
this  mighty  host  could  be  brought  together.  All  being 
at  length  ready,  and  the  Trojans  having  shown  no  sub- 
mission, the  chiefs  were  for  setting  sail  forthwith.  But 
Agamemnon,  their  leader,  going  on  shore  to  hunt,  had 
hurt  the  pride  of  the  goddess  Artemis,  by  killing  a  hind 
sacred  to  her.  The  offended  goddess  brought  about  a 
dead  calm,  so  that  for  weeks  not  a  ship  could  stir  from 
the  strait,  on  whose  shore  so  many  warriors  chafed  in 
idle  impatience.  Then  Calchas  the  diviner,  in  virtue  of 
his  art,  gave  out  that  Artemis  would  not  be  appeased 
without  the  sacrifice  of  Agamemnon's  eldest  daughter, 
Iphigenia:  only  at  the  price  of  her  blood  could  they 
buy  a  fair  wind. 

The  horrified  father  at  first  would  have  chosen  rather 
to  lay  down  the  command  than  devote  his  daughter  to 


THE   GATHERING  AT   AULIS  235 

such  a  doom.  But  Menelaus,  eager  for  revenge  on 
Paris,  hotly  upbraided  his  brother's  soft-heartedness,  till 
Agamemnon  was  won  to  concede  the  cruel  sacrifice. 

He  sent  for  his  wife  Clytemnestra,  bidding  her  bring 
Iphigenia  to  Aulis,  on  pretence  that  she  should  be 
married  to  Achilles.  Then,  relenting  in  his  purpose, 
he  sent  another  message  bidding  her  pay  no  heed  to 
the  first.  But  that  second  message  was  intercepted  by 
watchful  Menelaus,  who  again  heaped  reproaches  on  the 
wavering  Agamemnon  as  untrue  to  the  common  cause. 
As  they  stood  quarrelling,  it  was  announced  that  Iphi- 
genia and  her  mother  were  at  hand.  So  moving  was 
the  father's  distress,  that  now  Menelaus  himself  pressed 
him  to  forego  that  sacrifice;  but  when  the  brothers  had 
been  reconciled  with  tears,  the  elder  declared  his  heart 
steeled  to  let  the  maiden  die. 

Soon  arrived  Clytemnestra  and  Iphigenia  with  her 
infant  brother  Orestes;  and  again  the  king's  heart  was 
wrung  by  the  joyful  embraces  of  his  daughter,  who 
could  not  understand  why  they  called  forth  no  answer- 
ing smiles.  Clytemnestra  better  knew  her  husband;  and 
his  gloomy  looks  filled  her  with  suspicion,  the  more  so 
when,  seeking  out  Achilles,  she  heard  from  him  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  the  feigned  betrothal  to  Iphigenia. 
Next  she  fell  in  with  the  slave  prevented  by  Menelaus 
from  carrying  her  husband's  second  message,  and  he 
told  how  Iphigenia  was  doomed  for  sacrifice. 

When  the  queen  had  wrung  all  the  truth  from 
Agamemnon,  loud  was  she  in  wrath  and  woe.  The 
daughter  clung  about  her  father's  knees,  praying  for 
mercy.  Achilles  burst  into  the  tent,  offering  to  shield 
her  against  the  whole  host  already  clamouring  for  her 
blood.  But  Agamemnon  now  stood  like  a  rock  against 
threats   and  entreaties :    he  remembered  that   he  was  a 


236  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

king  as  well  as  a  father,  nor  yet  a  despot,  but  one  who 
must  consult  with  those  who  followed  him  in  war.  And 
Iphigenia,  drying  her  tears,  rose  to  stand  upright  before 
him,  saying  with  firm  voice — 

"  Since  so  it  must  be,  I  am  willing  to  die ;  then  shall 
I  be  called  the  honour  of  Greek  maidenhood,  who  have 
given  my  life  for  the  mother-land.  Let  the  fall  of  Troy 
be  my  marriage  feast  and  my  monument ! " 

She  turned  away,  her  young  brother  Orestes  clasped 
in  her  arms,  leaving  their  mother  prostrate  on  the  ground 
in  helpless  despair.  Iphigenia's  last  words  were  a  pro- 
mise to  stand  still  as  a  lamb  when  brought  to  the  altar; 
while  Achilles,  who  had  come  verily  to  love  this  patient 
victim,  spoke  hotly  of  rescuing  her  by  force  under  the 
knife  of  the  priest,  yet  must  fear  that  even  his  fierce 
Myrmidons  would  shrink  from  violating  a  sacred  rite. 

"  I  was  cut  off  from  hope  in  that  sad  place, 
Which  yet  to  name,  my  spirit  loathes  and  fears; 
My  father  held  his  hand  upon  his  face; 
I,  blinded  with  my  tears, 

"  Still  strove  to  speak:  my  voice  was  thick  with  sighs. 
As  in  a  dream.     Dimly  I  could  descry 
The  stern  black-bearded  kings,  with  wolfish  eyes. 
Waiting  to  see  me  die. 

"The  high  masts  flickered  as  they  lay  afloat; 
The  crowds,  the  temples  wavered,  and  the  shore; 
The  bright  death  quivered  at  the  victim's  throat; 
Touched;  and  I  knew  no  more." 

— Tennyson. 

The  Grecian  host  had  been  drawn  up  on  a  plain 
beside  Aulis,  where  stood  the  altar  of  Artemis  decked 
for  ceremony.  Iphigenia  was  led  forth.  Calchas  un- 
sheathed his  sacrificial  knife.  The  anguished  father  hid  his 
face.  A  herald  had  proclaimed  reverent  silence,  but  not 
a  man  could  speak  or  move  as  the  noble  maid  stretched 


THE   GATHERING  AT  AULIS  237 

forth  her  neck  to  the  blade  that  already  glittered  above 
her  like  the  hard  eyes  of  the  slaughterer.  Then  lo !  a 
wonder.  Artemis  had  taken  pity  on  this  innocent  victim: 
Iphigenia  vanished,  borne  off  by  the  goddess  in  a  cloud 
to  serve  in  perpetual  maidenhood  as  priestess  of  her 
temple  at  Tauris.  In  the  maiden's  place,  a  milk-white 
fawn  lay  writhing  before  the  altar,  sprinkled  with  its 
blood.  Calchas,  with  glad  astonishment,  proclaimed 
Artemis  to  be  appeased.  The  victim  she  had  sent  was 
burned  with  fire  upon  her  altar;  then,  as  the  last  spark 
died  out,  a  breath  from  heaven  moved  the  air,  and  the 
ships  could  be  seen  tossing  on  the  water  where  they  had 
so  long  lain  becalmed.  A  wind  was  springing  up  that  at 
once  set  the  camp  astir. 

Clytemnestra  heard  how  her  daughter  had  been  carried 
away,  never  to  see  her  more.  Without  waiting  to  take 
leave  of  her  husband,  she  set  out  for  his  city  of  Mycenae; 
ill  blood  rankling  in  her  heart  that  in  later  years  was  to 
work  long  woe  for  the  house  of  Agamemnon.  But  he 
and  his  warriors,  delivered  from  the  spell  cast  on  them, 
joyfully  embarked,  to  sail  with  a  fair  wind  for  the  coast 
of  Troy. 

There  another  victim  was  called  for.  The  Greek 
who  first  set  foot  on  Trojan  soil,  so  an  oracle  had 
declared,  was  doomed  to  die.  Even  the  bravest  might 
well  fear  to  defy  fate,  till  dauntless  Protesilaus  first 
leaped  on  shore,  to  fall  forthwith  by  a  spear  flung  by 
Hector.  Long  his  faithful  wife  Laodamia  mourned  that 
he  sent  no  word  home ;  and  many  a  hero  who  now 
hailed  the  bristling  walls  of  Troy,  would  never  again 
see  wife  or  child.  They  had  vowed  not  to  cut  their 
hair  till  these  walls  fell  before  them;  but  little  thought 
the  "  long-haired  Achaeans  "  that  the  siege  of  this  strong 
city  would  take  them  ten  toilsome  years. 


238  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 


III.  The  Wrath  of  Achilles 

On  the  Trojan  shore,  at  the  confluent  mouth  of  the 
rivers  Simois  and  Scamander,  the  Greeks  hauled  up  their 
ships,  placing  them  orderly  in  rows,  propped  on  beams 
and  stones,  with  lanes  between  the  squadron  from  each 
city ;  and  each  leader  lived  among  his  own  followers,  in 
tents  or  in  huts  of  wood  and  earth,  thatched  with  reeds, 
so  that  the  camp  was  like  a  town,  built  over  against  the 
high-set  battlements  of  Troy.  In  the  midst  was  left  an 
open  space  for  public  gatherings  and  for  the  altars  of  the 
gods.  At  either  end  it  was  guarded  by  Achilles  and  by 
the  huge  Ajax,  as  trustiest  champions  of  the  besiegers. 
Agamemnon,  that  "  king  of  men  '*,  had  his  quarter,  as 
beseemed,  in  the  centre,  among  the  tents  of  Ulysses, 
Menelaus,  Diomede,  Nestor,  and  other  warriors  from 
all  parts  of  Greece. 

"  Oh!  say  what  heroes,  fired  by  thirst  of  fame, 
Or  urged  by  wrongs,  to  Troy's  destruction  came. 
To  count  them  all  demands  a  thousand  tongues, 
A  throat  of  brass  and  adamantine  lungs." 

Between  the  city  and  the  camp,  the  two  rivers  en- 
closed an  open  plain  that  made  arena  for  many  a  fray. 
Again  and  again  the  Trojans  sallied  forth  to  hot  battle 
beneath  their  walls.  Each  army  was  led  on  by  its 
champions  whirling  up  the  dust  in  their  war-chariots, 
from  which  often  they  would  spring  down  to  meet 
one  another  hand  to  hand  in  single  combat,  while  all 
the  rest  stood  still  to  look  on,  mingling  their  shouts 
with  the  clang  of  arms.  Now  one,  now  the  other  party 
got  the  better,  and  drove  its  enemy  out  of  the  field. 
But  when  years  had  passed,  and  many  souls  of  heroes 


THE   WRATH   OF  ACHILLES  239 

had  gone  down  to  Hades  before  their  time,  not  yet  were 
the  Greeks  able  to  break  through  the  walls  of  Troy. 

Besides  battles  before  the  city,  the  invaders  made 
raids  for  plunder  far  and  wide  in  the  countries  around. 
In  one  such  foray  was  captured  Chryseis,  daughter  of 
Chryses,  a  priest  of  Apollo,  and  she  fell  to  Agamemnon's 
share  of  the  booty.  Her  old  father  came  to  the  camp 
seeking  to  ransom  her ;  but  the  haughty  king  refused 
to  yield  up  his  captive,  and  harshly  bade  the  sacred 
elder  begone.  Then  as  Chryses  turned  away  sorrowful 
along  the  moaning  shore,  he  prayed  the  god  whom  he 
served  to  reward  his  devotion  by  avenging  him  upon 
those  arrogant  strangers. 

"  Such  prayer  he  made,  and  it  was  heard.     The  god 
Down  from  Olympus,  with  his  radiant  bow. 
And  his  full  quiver  o'er  his  shoulders  slung, 
Marched  in  his  anger;  shaken  as  he  moved. 
His  rattling  arrows  told  of  his  approach. 
Like  night  he  came,  and  seated  with  the  ships 
In  view,  despatched  an  arrow.     Clanged  the  cord. 
Dread  sounding,  bounding  on  the  silver  bow. 
Mules  first,  and  dogs,  he  struck,  but  aiming  soon 
Against  the  Greeks  themselves,  his  bitter  shafts 
Smote  them.     The  frequent  piles  blazed  night  and  day." 

— Cowper?- 

When  the  pestilence  had  raged  for  nine  days,  the 
Greeks  met  in  council,  and  Calchas  was  called  on  to 
reveal  the  cause  of  the  god's  anger  against  them.  The 
seer  knew,  but  was  loath  to  tell  what  might  oifend  one 
he  feared.  Only  when  Achilles  bid  him  speak  out, 
promising    to    be    his    shield    against    any    man    in    the 

1  This  and  the  two  succeeding  chapters  make  the  theme  of  Homer's  Iliad. 
Quotations  of  celebrated  passages,  where  not  marked  with  the  translator's  name,  are 
from  the  familiar  version  of  Pope,  which,  with  all  its  faults,  remains  one  of  the  most 
spirited  :  in  the  selection  of  versions,  the  aim  is  to  illustrate  the  different  manners  ia 
which  Homer  has  been  treated. 


240  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

host,  were  it  Agamemnon  himself,  did  Calchas  declare 
how  Apollo's  wrath  was  on  account  of  Chryseis  and  the 
wrong  done  to  her  suppliant  sire ;  nor  would  the  plague 
be  stayed  till  she  had  been  freely  restored  with  sacrifices 
and  prayers  to  appease  the  god,  injured  in  the  person 
of  his  priest. 

On  this,  Agamemnon  flared  into  wrath,  for  he  had 
come  to  love  his  fair  captive  well.  Not  less  hotly  did 
Achilles  demand  that  the  maid  should  be  given  back ; 
and  thus  broke  out  a  quarrel  between  those  heroes,  long 
jealous  of  each  other.  Since  the  general  voice  was 
against  him,  the  king  sullenly  agreed  to  resign  his  prize ; 
but  in  return  he  masterfully  claimed  Briseis,  another 
captive  damsel  who  had  been  given  to  Achilles  as  his 
share  of  the  spoil. 

Such  a  demand  stirred  Achilles  to  quick  anger;  and 
before  all  the  chiefs,  he  denounced  the  selfishness  of  their 
leader. 

"  O,  impudent,  regardful  of  thy  own, 
Whose  thoughts  are  centred  on  thyself  alone, 
Advanc'd  to  sovereign  sway  for  better  ends 
Than  thus  like  abject  slaves  to  treat  thy  friends. 
What  Greek  is  he,  that,  urg'd  by  thy  command, 
Against  the  Trojan  troops  will  lift  his  hand? 
Not  I:  nor  such  inforc'd  respect  I  owe; 
Nor  Pergamus  I  hate,  nor  Priam  is  my  foe. 
What  wrong  from  Troy  remote,  could  I  sustain. 
To  leave  my  fruitful  soil,  and  happy  reign. 
And  plough  the  surges  of  the  stormy  main? 
Thee,  frontless  man,  we  follow'd  from  afar; 
Thy  instruments  of  death,  and  tools  of  war. 
Thine  is  the  triumph;  ours  the  toil  alone: 
We  bear  thee  on  our  backs,  and  mount  thee  on  the  throne 
For  thee  we  fall  in  fight;  for  thee  redress 
Thy  baffled  brother,  not  the  wrongs  of  Greece. 
And  now  thou  threaten'st  with  unjust  decree. 
To  punish  thy  affronting  heaven,  on  me. 


THE   WRATH   OF  ACHILLES  241 

Tc  seize  the  prize  which  I  so  dearly  bought; 

By  common  suffrage  given,  confirm'd  by  lot, 

Mean  match  to  thine:  for  still  above  the  rest. 

Thy  hook'd  rapacious  hands  usurp  the  best. 

Though  mine  are  first  in  fight,  to  force  the  prey; 

And  last  sustain  the  labours  of  the  day. 

Nor  grudge  I  thee  the  much  the  Grecians  give; 

Nor  murmuring  take  the  little  I  receive. 

Yet  even  this  little,  thou,  who  wouldst  ingross 

The  whole,  insatiate,  envy'st  as  thy  loss. 

Know,  then,  for  Phthia  fix'd  is  my  return: 

Better  at  home  my  ill-paid  pains  to  mourn. 

Than  from  an  equal  here  sustain  the  public  scorn." 

"^  — Dryden, 

"  Let  him  go,"  haughtily  retorted  Agamemnon ; 
"  the  host  would  be  well  rid  of  such  a  quarrelsome  and 
wilful  comrade." 

"  We  need  not  such  a  friend,  nor  fear  not  such  a  foe." 

But  in  any  case  he  must  give  up  his  Briseis,  if 
the  king  had  to  tear  her  away  with  his  own  hands.  At 
this  threat  the  wrath  of  Achilles  could  not  readily  find 
words.  He  leaped  to  his  feet,  he  laid  hand  upon  his 
sword,  and  he  stood  torn  between  rage  and  loyalty,  half 
in  a  mind  to  unsheathe  against  the  leader  of  the  host, 
when  Athene  swiftly  descended  to  his  side,  visible  to 
him  alone,  as  she  held  him  back  by  his  yellow  hair, 
bidding  him  restrain  his  hasty  rage,  and  promising  that 
prudence  should  not  go  without  reward.  Thus  secretly 
counselled,  the  son  of  Peleus  put  up  his  sword,  yet  in 
bitter  words  he  vented  the  swelling  of  his  heart  against 
that  insolent  king. 

"  Swoln  drunkard!  dog  in  eye  but  hind  in  heart, 
Who  ne'er  in  war  sustain'st  a  warrior's  part, 
Nor  join'st  our  ambush;  for  alike  thy  fear 
In  war  and  ambush  views  destruction  near, 


242  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

More  safe,  'mid  Graecia's  ranks  th'  inglorious  toil, 

To  grasp  some  murmurer's  unprotected  spoil. 

Plunderer  of  slaves — slaves  void  of  soul  as  sense — =■ 

Or  Greece  had  witness'd  now  thy  last  offence. 

Yet — by  this  sceptre,  which,  untimely  reft 

From  its  bare  trunk  upon  the  mountain  left, 

Bark'd  by  the  steel,  and  of  its  foliage  shorn. 

Nor  bark  nor  foliage  shall  again  adorn, 

But  borne  by  powerful  chiefs  of  high  command. 

Guardians  of  law,  and  judges  of  the  land: 

Be  witness  thou,  by  this  tremendous  test 

I  ratify  my  word,  and  steel  my  breast — 

The  day  shall  come,  when  Greece,  in  dread  alarm. 

Shall  lean  for  succour  on  Pelides'  arm: 

Then,  while  beneath  fierce  Hector's  murderous  blade 

Thy  warriors  bleed,  and  claim  in  vain  thy  aid. 

Rage  shall  consume  thy  heart,  that  madd'ning  pride. 

Dishonouring  me,  thy  bravest  chief  defied." 

— Sotheby. 

In  vain  Nestor,  oldest  and  wisest  of  the  Greeks, 
grey  with  experience  of  three  generations  of  men,  and 
reverenced  as  the  familiar  friend  of  bygone  heroes — 
in  vain  with  weighty  words  he  strove  to  reconcile  the 
threatening  leaders.  Vowing  to  fight  no  more  for  any 
woman's  sake,  Achilles,  with  his  bosom  friend  Patroclus, 
withdrew  to  his  tent,  where  presently  he  had  the  pain 
of  seeing  Briseis  fetched  away  by  the  messengers  of 
Agamemnon.  The  other  chiefs  consented  to  let  it  be 
so,  since  now  Chryseis  was  given  back  to  her  father, 
and  the  god  being  duly  propitiated,  his  fiery  arrows 
ceased  to  fall  upon  the  camp. 

Such  open  indignity  had  driven  Achilles  beside  him- 
self. Going  far  apart  along  the  shore  of  the  sounding 
ocean,  with  tears  of  spite  and  sullen  groans  he  called 
up  his  goddess  mother  from  its  depths.  She  rose  like  a 
mist  to  hear  his  tale  of  hurt  honour  and  rankling  pride. 
Thetis  wept  in   sympathy  with   her  injured  son,  whose 


THE   WRATH   OF  ACHILLES  243 

cause  she  willingly  agreed  to  further  in  the  court  c( 
Olympus.  He  asked  her  nothing  less  than  this,  to  make 
interest  with  Zeus  that  the  Greeks  should  now  suffer  such 
loss  as  might  teach  them  what  it  was  to  serve  so  hateful 
a  king,  and  to  want  the  help  of  their  bravest  champion. 

Thetis  promised  to  fulfil  his  mission  as  soon  as  Zeus 
should  have  returned  from  a  feast  he  was  holding  among 
the  blameless  Ethiopians.  After  twelve  days,  then,  she 
soared  to  Olympus,  clasped  its  king  by  the  knees,  and 
begged  of  him  to  avenge  her  son's  disgrace.  Zeus,  at 
first  unwilling,  gave  way  to  her  entreaties,  consenting  it 
should  be  as  she  desired,  yea,  confirming  his  decree  with 
a  nod  that  shook  the  skies.  But  he  bid  her  begone  in 
haste,  not  to  be  spied  by  his  jealous  queen,  who,  never 
forgetting  the  slight  put  on  her  by  Paris,  was  impatient 
for  the  fall  of  Troy. 

Hera  indeed  had  marked  the  coming  of  the  silver- 
footed  Thetis,  and  she  distrusted  that  resounding  nod ; 
but  when  she  would  have  questioned  her  spouse  what 
favour  he  had  thus  granted,  the  Thunderer  sternly 
silenced  her  curiosity.  There  had  nigh  been  a  quarrel 
in  heaven,  but  for  Vulcan's  handing  round  a  bowl  of 
nectar  with  such  awkward  goodwill,  that  his  hobbling 
gait  sent  all  the  gods  oflF  in  peals  of  laughter ;  and  the 
rest  of  the  Olympian  day  went  merrily  by  in  feast  and 
song. 

Soon  would  it  be  known  on  earth  what  Zeus  pur- 
posed against  the  Greeks.  When  all  the  other  gods 
slept  he  lay  awake,  turning  over  in  his  mind  how  to 
carry  out  that  promise  wrung  from  him  by  the  fond 
mother  of  Achilles  ;  and  it  seemed  best  to  send  a  false 
dream  to  Agamemnon,  by  which  he  was  bidden  lead 
out  the  host  for  a  battle  that  should  humble  the  walls 
of  Troy. 


244  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

"  For  now  no  more  the  gods  with  fate  contend; 
At  Juno's  suit  the  heavenly  factions  end. 
Destruction  hangs  o'er  yon  devoted  wall, 
And  nodding  Ilion  waits  the  impending  fall. 
Awake;  but  waking  this  advice  approve, 
And  trust  the  vision  that  descends  from  Jove ! " 

Roused  by  such  a  lying  phantom,  the  exultant  king 
called  all  the  chiefs  to  council.  Then,  to  try  men's 
temper,  he  first  spoke  of  their  toils,  their  losses  through 
nine  fruitless  years :  he  asked  if  it  were  not  well  to  give 
up  this  weary  siege  and  hasten  back  to  the  wives  and 
children  who  pined  for  them  in  their  homes  over  the 
sea.  To  his  dismay,  the  Greeks  heard  him  but  too 
gladly.  With  loud  applause  they  hailed  his  feigned 
retreat ;  and  the  whole  army  moved  towards  the  shore  in 
rushing  waves,  eager  to  embark.  Already  they  had  begun 
to  launch  their  rotting  ships,  when  Pallas- Athene,  sent 
by  Hera,  swooped  down  to  hold  them  back.  Odysseus 
she  found  still  steadfast,  and  him  she  stirred  to  check 
the  shameful  flight.  Into  his  hands  Agamemnon  gave 
the  sceptre  of  authority,  with  which  the  hero  flew  among 
the  broken  ranks,  reproaching,  commanding,  or  beating 
back  the  dastards  and  laggards,  crying  on  them  to  obey 
their  leader's  voice  alone,  and  not 

"  That  worst  of  tyrants,  a  usurping  crowd". 

One  man  only  ventured  to  speak  out  against  him. 
The  squint-eyed  Thersites^  that  hobbling  hunchback, 
was  ever  a  mocker  and  reviler  of  his  betters.  He  now 
spitefully  raised  his  voice  to  ask  why  men  like  him 
should  fight  for  a  rich  king,  who  grasped  the  rewards  of 
war,  but  left  its  toils  to  harder  hands.  With  a  threat  to 
have  him  stripped  and  scourged  to  the  fleet,  Odysseus  laid 
the  heavy  sceptre  on  his  crooked  back  so  sturdily  that 


BATTLES   OF   GODS  AND   HEROES     '245 

Thersites  shrank  into  tearful  silence ;  and  that  example 
cowed  all  discontent. 

The  rout  thus  stayed,  Odysseus  eloquently  called 
to  his  comrades'  minds  their  vows,  their  hopes,  the 
favourable  omens  that  promised  the  fall  of  Troy.  Old 
Nestor  also  addressed  the  warriors,  bidding  them  forbear 
all  strife  but  against  the  foe.  Agamemnon  no  longer 
wasted  his  breath  on  crafty  speech,  but  plainly  ordered 
battle  array.  After  offering  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  and 
taking  a  meal  that  for  many  a  man  might  be  his  last, 
the  Greek  host,  as  was  their  wont,  advanced  silently 
and  sternly  in  close  ranks,  wrapt  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
while  the  Trojans  came  out  to  meet  them  like  a  noisy 
flock  of  cranes,  with  boastful  cries  and  idle  clash  of  arms. 
But  he  who  should  have  led  the  Achaeans  on  to  victory, 
now  sat  sullenly  in  his  tent. 


IV.  The  Battles  of  Gods  and  Heroes 

The  armies  being  drawn  up  face  to  face,  ready  to 
set  on,  Paris,  wearing  a  panther's  skin  over  his  bright 
armour,  stepped  gracefully  forth  from  the  Trojan  ranks 
to  challenge  the  bravest  of  the  Greeks.  At  the  word, 
Menelaus  sprang  from  his  chariot  and  bounded  forward 
like  a  lion  upon  the  spoiler  of  his  home.  But  when  Paris, 
erst  brave  as  beautiful,  saw  the  hero  in  all  the  fierceness 
of  his  wrong,  conscience  turned  him  coward ;  he  flinched 
from  the  encounter,  and  would  have  shrunk  back  among 
the  thick  of  his  own  people,  had  not  Hector  sharply  up- 
braided him  for  shirking  the  foe  he  had  brought  on  their 
native  city  by  his  womanly  tricks  and  graces. 

"  Thou  wretched  Paris,  though  in  form  so  fair, 
Thou  slave  of  woman,  manhood's  counterfeit! 


246  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

Would  thou  had'st  ne'er  been  born,  or  died  at  least 

Un wedded;  so  'twere  better  far  for  all, 

Than  thus  to  live  a  scandal  and  reproach. 

Well  may  the  long-haired  Greeks  derisive  laugh, 

Who  think  thee,  from  thy  outward  show,  a  chief 

Among  our  warriors;  but  thou  hast  in  truth 

Nor  strength  of  mind,  nor  courage  in  the  fight. 

How  was't  that  such  as  thou  could  e'er  induce 

A  noble  band  in  ocean-going  ships 

To  cross  the  main,  with  men  of  other  lands 

Mixing  in  amity,  and  bearing  thence 

A  woman  fair  of  face,  by  marriage  ties 

Bound  to  a  race  of  warriors;  to  thy  sire, 

Thy  state,  thy  people,  cause  of  endless  grief. 

Of  triumph  to  thy  foes,  contempt  to  thee! 

Durst  thou  the  warlike  Menelaus  meet, 

Thou  to  thy  cost  should  learn  the  might  of  him 

Whose  bride  thou  didst  not  fear  to  bear  away: 

Then  should'st  thou  find  of  small  avail  thy  lyre 

Or  Venus'  gifts  of  beauty  or  of  grace. 

Or,  trampled  in  the  dust,  thy  flowing  hair. 

But  too  forbearing  are  the  men  of  Troy; 

Else  for  the  ills  that  thou  hast  wrought  the  state, 

Ere  now  thy  body  had  in  stone  been  cased." 

— Lord  Derby. 

His  brother's  scorn  goaded  Paris  back  to  pride;  and 
he  nerved  himself  to  fight  out  the  quarrel  in  single 
combat  with  Menelaus,  its  issue  to  decide  the  war. 
A  parley  was  called,  a  truce  proclaimed,  and  the  two 
armies  ranged  themselves  about  the  lists  in  which  that 
eventful  duel  should  end  so  much  slaughter.  From  the 
walls  of  Troy,  old  Priam  looked  anxiously  on;  and  to 
him  came  Helen,  who,  as  she  sat  weaving  her  story  into 
a  web  of  golden  tapestry,  had  been  called  to  witness  the 
battle  between  her  rival  husbands.  Sitting  by  Priam's 
side,  she  named  to  him  the  chiefs  of  the  Greeks,  once 
her  familiar  friends,  kingly  Agamemnon,  gigantic  Ajax, 
wise  Odysseus;  but  she  looked  in  vain  for  her  brothers 


BATTLES   OF   GODS   AND   HEROES     247 

Castor  and  Pollux,  cut  off  by  fate  since  she  left  their 
Spartan  home. 

When  all  was  ready,  Priam  turned  away,  for  he  could 
not  bear  to  behold  the  peril  of  his  darling  son.  But 
Helen  kept  her  place,  gazing  through  tears  upon  her 
first  husband,  who  now  again  seemed  dear  to  her  in  his 
manly  wrath.  Lots  being  drawn  for  which  of  her  lovers 
should  cast  the  first  javelin,  the  chance  fell  to  Paris,  and 
her  eyes  followed  the  shining  dart  as  it  sped  through  the 
air  to  bound  back  from  the  Greek's  ringing  shield.  With 
a  prayer  to  Zeus  to  guide  his  weapon  well,  Menelaus 
next  threw  with  such  forceful  aim  that  the  point  pierced 
through  shield  and  armour  and  garment,  and  but  for 
drawing  deftly  back,  Paris  had  felt  a  deadly  wound.  As 
he  staggered  under  the  shock,  the  son  of  Atreus  was 
upon  him  with  drawn  sword.  The  keen  blade  splintered 
against  the  prince's  crest,  and  broke  off  short  in  the  hand 
of  Menelaus,  who  then  grasped  Paris  by  the  helmet  and 
would  have  dragged  him  off  among  the  exulting  Greeks. 

Already  their  shouts  hailed  the  downfall  of  Troy's 
champion,  when  Aphrodite  came  to  the  aid  of  her 
favourite.  With  unseen  touch  she  burst  the  golden 
strap  of  the  helmet,  that  came  away  empty  in  the  grasp 
of  the  Greek,  who  flung  it  hastily  down,  again  to  aim 
a  dart  at  the  Trojan's  breast.  But  as  it  whizzed  to  its 
mark,  the  goddess  had  caught  up  Paris  and  carried  him 
off  hidden  in  a  cloud,  to  lay  him  fainting  on  the  bridal 
bed,  where  Helen  came  to  tend  him,  her  heart  torn 
between  love  of  the  winsome  form,  and  contempt  for 
the  craven  spirit. 

The  Greeks  now  claimed  the  victory,  as  well  they 
might  after  the  flight  of  Paris;  and  in  Olympus  the 
gods  held  council  about  putting  an  end  to  the  war. 
Zeus  was  for  having  Helen  surrendered  to  the  besiegers 


248  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

without  more  ado  ;  but  Hera  pressed  her  ill  will  against 
Troy,  offering  her  spouse  in  return  for  its  destruction  to 
let  him  ruin  her  own  best-loved  cities,  Argos,  Mycenae, 
and  Sparta ;  and  for  the  sake  of  peace  in  heaven  its 
king  gave  way.  Pallas  was  sent  down  to  rekindle  the 
war,  as  she  did  by  stirring  the  archer  Pandarus  to  aim 
an  arrow  at  Menelaus,  that  drew  blood  from  a  hurt 
quickly  stanched.  That  treacherous  shot  broke  the 
truce ;  then  Agamemnon,  filled  with  grief  and  rage  when 
at  first  he  took  his  wounded  brother  for  dead,  cried  on 
the  Greeks  to  battle. 

Hot  was  the  combat  in  which  gods  took  part  as  well 
as  men.  The  hero  of  that  day  was  Diomede,  whom 
Pallas  healed,  at  a  touch,  of  a  mortal  wound,  so  that  he 
had  strength  to  heave  a  stone,  not  to  be  lifted  by  two 
men  of  his  degenerate  posterity.  He  hurled  it  at  ^Eneas, 
brought  to  his  knees  by  its  crushing  weight,  to  be  saved 
by  his  mother  Aphrodite,  who  screened  him  behind  her 
veil ;  but  he  saw  his  god-given  chariot  horses  carried  off 
as  trophies  to  the  Greek  camp.  Diomede  did  not  fear 
to  assail  the  goddess  herself,  and  wounded  her  with  a  dart, 
not  less  keenly  with  insolent  words. 

"  The  field  of  combat  Is  no  scene  for  thee. 
Go,  let  thy  own  soft  sex  employ  thy  care, 
Go,  lull  the  coward  or  delude  the  fair. 
Taught  by  this  stroke,  renounce  the  war's  alarms. 
And  learn  to  tremble  at  the  name  of  arms !" 

Giving  her  son  to  be  guarded  by  Apollo,  the  queen 
of  love  fled  horror-struck  to  Olympus  in  the  chariot  of 
Ares,  who,  fighting  for  Troy,  got  a  hurt  that  made  him 
bellow  for  pain.  Hera  herself  had  come  down  to  join 
in  the  fray,  taking  the  form  of  Stentor,  the  loudest- 
lunged  of  the  Greeks,  and  with  his  voice  taunting  them 


BATTLES   OF   GODS   AND   HEROES     249 

for  cowardice,  while  Pallas,  hidden  under  her  helmet  of 
darkness,  served  Diomede  as  his  charioteer  to  charge 
against  Mars.  But  when  the  god  of  war,  sorely  pierced 
by  his  own  darts,  fled  to  Olympus  with  groanings  and 
complaints,  the  goddesses,  too,  saw  well  to  leave  the  field. 

The  earthly  warriors  went  on  fighting  till  Simois  and 
Scamander  ran  red  with  blood.  It  was  then  that  Diomede 
encountered  the  Lycian  prince  Glaucus,  grandson  of 
Bellerophon;  but  on  learning  of  the  old  guest-fellowship 
of  their  sires,  they  forbore  to  shed  each  other's  blood, 
and  even  exchanged  armour,  the  brazen  mail  of  the 
Greek  for  the  golden  trappings  of  the  other,  worth  ten 
times  as  many  oxen,  thus  plighting  faith  to  be  friends, 
foemen  as  were  their  people.  But  there  was  no  ruth 
nor  kindness  in  the  heart  of  Ajax,  as  he  raged  among 
the  Trojans,  smiting  down  young  and  old,  great  and 
small,  so  that  for  a  time  Achilles  went  unmissed  by 
friend  as  by  foe. 

From  the  heat  and  dust  of  that  hurly-burly.  Hector 
hastened  back  to  Troy,  where  he  vainly  set  Hecuba 
and  her  attendants  upon  a  solemn  procession  to  the 
temple  of  Pallas,  that  she  might  be  besought  to  check 
the  doughty  Diomede's  career.  In  the  palace  Hector 
found  Paris  idly  polishing  and  playing  with  his  arms  at 
Helen's  side ;  then  once  more  he  broke  out  upon  that 
unworthy  brother,  for  whose  sake  so  many  brave  men 
were  meeting  death,  while  he  carelessly  sat  apart  among 
the  women.  Stung  by  sharp  reproaches,  Paris  promised 
to  follow  him  to  the  battle ;  and  his  wife  herself  spurned 
the  laggard  forth,  with  warm  words  to  Hector. 

"Brother  of  me  the  abominable,  accurst! 
Would  that  from  heaven  a  sweeping  storm  had  burst. 
And  wrapt  me  away  for  ever  to  the  hills. 
In  that  day  when  my  mother  bore  me  first, 

fc238)  ^^ 


250  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

Or,  where  the  wave  roars  and  the  hurricane  shrills, 

Had  in  the  deep  waste  drowned  me,  ere  I  bred  these  ills!! 

"But  since  the  gods  ordained  them,  why  not  then 
Give  me  a  husband  better  and  more  fit. 
That  knew  shame,  and  the  burning  tongues  of  men? 
This  hath  not,  will  have  never,  a  sound  wit, 
And  he  will  reap  his  folly.     But  now  sit 
On  this  chair,  O  my  brother,  for  our  crime 
Hath  most  thy  soul  to  ceaseless  sorrow  knit; 
And  now  with  him  I  to  such  misery  climb. 
Men  shall  make  songs  upon  us  in  the  after-time." 

— Worsley. 

But  Hector  would  not  stay;  before  all  he  must  seek 
out  his  own  wife  Andromache  for  one  short  greeting  that 
might  be  the  last.  He  found  her  not  in  their  home, 
but  on  a  tower  of  the  walls,  eagerly  watching  the  turns 
of  a  battle  in  which  her  husband's  life  was  exposed  to 
the  same  swords  that  had  already  slain  all  the  men  of 
her  father's  house.  Beside  her,  borne  in  the  arms  of  his 
nurse,  was  her  young  son  Astyanax.  In  vain  she  pled 
with  her  husband  to  remain  within  the  walls,  as  guard  for 
Troy  and  for  his  dear  ones. 

"  While  Hector  still  survives,  I  see 
My  father,  mother,  brethren  all  in  thee !  '* 

It  could  not  be,  he  told  her ;  his  part  was  to  stand 
foremost  in  the  field  ;  and  much  as  he  loved  her,  honour 
was  dearer  still.  So,  with  heartfelt  forebodings  of  disaster, 
he  took  farewell  of  wife  and  child,  perhaps  doomed  to 
slavery,  did  his  arm  fail  to  shield  them. 

"So  said   the  glorious   Hector,  and  stretch'd  out  his  arms   for  the 
infant — 
But  back-shrinking,  the  child  on  the  deep-veil'd  breast  of  the  damsel 
Cower'd  with  a  cry,  and  avoided  in  horror  the  sight  of  his  father, 
Scared  at  the  shine  of  the  brass  and  the  terrible  plumage  of  horse  hail 


BATTLES   OF   GODS   AND   HEROES     251 

Tossing  adown,  as  he  stoopt,  from  the  crest  of  the  glittering  helmet: 
Then  did  the  father  laugh  right  forth — and  Andromache  also; 
But  soon  glorious  Hector  had  lifted  the  casque  from  his  temples, 
And  on  the  ground  at  their  feet  it  was  laid,  the  magnificent  head- 
piece; 
Then   in   his   hands    he   received    him   and    kist    him   and    tenderly 

dandled; 
Which  done,  this  was  his  prayer  unto   Zeus  and  the  rest  of  the 
godheads: — 

"*Zeus!    and  ye  deities  all!    may  your    blessing    descend  on    mine 

offspring! 
Grant  estimation  to  him,  as  to  me,  in  the  land  of  the  Trojan! 
Gallant  in  arms  may  he  be,  and  his  reign  over  Ilion  mighty. 
Let  it  be  spoken  of  him,  when  they  see  him  returning  from  battle. 
Bearing    the    blood  -  stain'd    spoils,    having    slaughter'd    his    enemy 

fairly; — 
This  is  the  first  of  his  lineage,  more  excellent  far  than  his  father. 
Such    be    the    cry  —  and   in   him    let    the  heart   of  his    mother    be 

gladdened!' 

"Thus  pray'd   he,   and   surrender'd    the    child  to   the   hands  of  the 

mother, 
And  she  receiv'd  him  and  prest  to  the  fragrant  repose  of  her  bosom, 
Smiling  with  tears  in  her  eyes;  and  the  husband   beheld  her  with 

pity, 
Gently  caressed  with  his  hand,  and  bespake  her  again  at  departing: — 
*  Dearest  and  best!  let  not  trouble  for  me  overmaster  thy  spirit. 
None,  contravening  the  doom,  prematurely  to  Hades  shall  send  me, 
Nor,  full  sure,  can  the  sentence  of  Fate  be  avoided  by  mortals. 
Whether  for  good  or  for  ill,  firm  fixt  from  the  hour  of  our  birthtime.'"' 

— /.  G.  Lockhart. 

^The  reader  may  be  interested  in  comparing  with  a  later  translation  of  this 
famous  passage  the  version  of  old  Chapman,  who  in  some  respects  is  judged  to  have 
rendered   Homer  better  than  most  of  his  rivals. 

"This  said,  he  reach'd  to  take  his  son,  who  of  his  arms  afraid. 
And  then  the  horse-hair  plume,  with  which  he  was  so  overlaid, 
Nodded  so  horribly,  he  cling'd  back  to  his  nurse,  and  cried. 
Laughter  affected  his  great  sire;  who  doff'd  and  laid  aside 
His  fearful  helm,  that  on  the  earth  cast  round  about  it  light; 
Then  took  and  kiss'd  his  loving  son;  and  (balancing  his  weight 
In  dancing  him)  these  loving  vows  to  living  Jove  he  us'd. 
And  all  the  other  bench  of  gods :  *  O  you  that  have  infus'd 


252  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

With  this,  bidding  her  return  fo  her  household  tasks, 
he  laced  on  his  helm  and  strode  away,  while  Andromache 
went  home  to  weep  with  her  maids  for  the  well-loved 
lord  she  had  seen  for  the  last  time  alive. 

Hector  and  Paris  having  come  back  to  the  fray,  it 
soon  blazed  up  afresh,  and  for  a  time  victory  was  bandied 
about  by  stirring  feats  of  arms  on  either  side.  It  was 
Hector  that  now  defied  the  bravest  of  the  Greeks  to 
single  combat ;  and  Menelaus  would  have  taken  up  the 
challenge,  had  not  his  heedful  brother  Agamemnon  held 
him  back  from  encountering  such  a  peerless  champion, 
But  when  old  Nestor  called  shame  on  the  warriors  for 
faint  hearts,  minding  them  of  the  dead  heroes  of  his 
own  time,  they  were  spurred  on  to  agree  that  their  nine 
mightiest  should  draw  lots  which  must  face  the  Trojan 
leader.  The  lot  fell  on  huge  Ajax,  the  very  man  who 
would  have  been  chosen  by  every  voice ;  and  he  with 
joy  and  pride  armed  himself  for  the  trial. 

More  fiercely  than  when  Paris  was  the  skulking  foe, 
these  two  met  before  the  gazing  armies.  Long  and 
mightily  they  fought  with  spears  and  darts  and  flaming 
swords,  and  when  these  were  broken  or  blunted,  with 


Soul  to  this  infant;  now  set  down  this  blessing  on  his  star: 

Let  his  renown  be  clear  as  mine;  equal  his  strength  in  war; 

And  make  his  reign  so  strong  in  Troy,  that  years  to  come  may  yield 

His  facts  this  fame; — when  rich  in  spoils,  he  leaves  the  conquer'd  field 

Sown  with  his  slaughters: — These  high  deeds  exceed  his  father's  worth. 

And  let  this  echo'd  praise  supply  the  comforts  to  come  forth 

Of  his  kind  mother,  with  my  life!'     This  said,  th'  heroic  sire 

Gave  him  his  mother;  whose  fair  eyes,  fresh  streams  of  love's  salt  fire, 

Billow'd  on  her  soft  cheeks,  to  hear  the  last  of  Hector's  speech. 

In  which  his  vows  compris'd  the  sum  of  all  he  did  beseech 

In  her  wish'd  comfort.     So  she  took  into  her  odorous  breast 

Her  husband's  gift;  who,  mov'd  to  see  her  heart  so  much  oppress' d, 

He  dried  her  tears;  and  thus  desir'd:  'Afflict  me  not,  dear  wife, 

With  these  vain  griefs.     He  doth  not  live  that  can  disjoin  my  life 

And  this  firm  bosom,  but  my  fate;  and  fate  whose  wings  can  fly? 

Noble,  ignoble,  fate  controls:  once  born,  the  best  must  die." 


BATTLES   OF   GODS   AND   HEROES     253 

big  stones  caught  up  to  crush  the  other  beneath  their 
shattered  shields ;  but  before  either  had  got  the  better, 
darkness  fell  upon  them,  and  they  drew  apart  with 
courteous  salutations  and  exchange  of  gifts,  promising 
to  fight  out  their  duel  some  other  day,  now  broken  off 
at  the  bidding  of  sage  elders  on  either  side. 

"  Forbear,  my  sons,  your  further  force  to  prove. 
Both  dear  to  men,  and  both  beloved  of  Jove! 
To  either  host  your  matchless  worth  is  known, 
Each  sounds  your  praise,  and  war  is  all  your  own; 
But  now  the  Night  extends  her  awful  shade; 
The  goddess  parts  you :  be  the  Night  obeyed." 

There  was  little  rest  that  night  for  either  army.  A 
truce  had  been  agreed  upon  that  each  should  gather  its 
dead  for  burning  and  burial  in  honoured  mounds.  The 
Greeks,  warned  by  their  losses,  had  made  haste  to  throw 
up  a  wall  and  trench  round  their  camp,  where  before 
long  they  might  find  themselves  besieged  instead  of  be- 
siegers. The  Trojans  held  confused  council,  in  which 
it  was  proposed  that  Helen  should  now  be  given  back, 
that  with  her  their  land  might  be  freed  from  the  plague 
of  war.  Paris  could  by  no  means  consent  to  part  with 
his  bride,  but  he  was  willing  to  yield  up  the  treasures 
of  Sparta,  if  so  much  would  content  the  enemy ;  and 
the  doting  Priam  sent  a  herald  to  offer  this  wealth,  and 
more,  as  the  price  of  peace.  But  the  Greeks  were  not 
to  be  bribed  by  gold ;  and  now  fortune  brought  them 
a  fleet  of  ships  freighted  with  generous  wine  to  warm 
their  hearts  into  forgetfulness  of  pains  suffered  and  to 
come. 

Meanwhile,  Zeus  called  a  council  of  the  gods,  whom 
with  threats  he  forbade  to  take  further  part  on  either 
hand.  Yet,  when  daylight  again  awoke  the  war,  moved 
by  his   promise    to   Thetis,   he    himself  interfered  with 


254  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

thunders  that  dismayed  the  Greeks.  'Twere  long  to 
tell  all  the  ebb  and  flow  of  that  day's  battle.  Enough  to 
say  that  after  fresh  slaughter  and  countless  heroic  deeds, 
at  nightfall  the  once  exulting  invaders  were  driven  back 
behind  their  new-made  defences,  and  the  Trojans  lay  on 
the  field  they  held  as  victors. 

"  Many  a  fire  before  them  blazed: 
As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid 
And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  Shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart: 
So  many  a  fire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy, 
A  thousand  on  the  plain;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire; 
And  champing  golden  grain  the  horses  stood 
Hard  by  their  chariots  waiting  for  the  dawn." 

— Tennyson. 

While  the  Trojans  already  looked  forward  to  spoiling 
the  Grecian  camp,  those  within  it  were  beset  with  dismay. 
Agamemnon  sent  out  whispering  messengers  to  summon 
the  chiefs,  who  found  him  tearfully  downcast ;  and  in 
words  broken  by  sighs  he  put  to  them,  now  in  good 
earnest,  that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  embark  and 
fly,  since  the  very  gods  fought  for  their  foe. 

He  was  heard  in  silence;  but  then  up  started 
Diomede,  keenly  reproaching  the  king  with  cowardice. 
Let  him  to  whom  the  gods  had  given  power  and  wealth 
but  not  a  steadfast  soul,  let  him  and  those  like-minded 
take  to  craven  flight !  He  himself  would  stay  and  fight 
out  the  fate  of  Troy,  and  one  friend  he  had,  Sthenelus, 
who  would  not  let  him  fight  alone.  His  bold  words 
stirred  outspoken   assent,   amid   which   rose    Nestor   to 


BATTLES   OF   GODS  AND   HEROES     255 

take  the  right  of  age  in  declaring  to  Agamemnon's  face 
that  all  their  misfortunes  were  owing  to  him,  in  that  he 
had  wronged  Achilles  and  estranged  their  bravest  warrior. 

The  contrite  king  listened  meekly,  and  answered  by 
confessing  his  fault,  for  which  he  was  now  willing  to 
make  amends.  To  the  hero  who  held  sullenly  aloof 
in  his  secluded  tent,  he  proposed  to  send  an  embassy 
of  reconciliation,  with  gifts  worthy  of  his  fame,  ten 
talents  of  gold,  twenty  golden  vases,  seven  sacrificial 
tripods,  twelve  matchless  steeds :  moreover  Agamemnon 
would  let  him  have  back  his  Briseis  along  with  seven 
more  fair  captives,  and  twenty  others  he  might  choose 
from  the  captives  of  Troy ;  then,  when  they  returned 
home  in  triumph,  Achilles  should  marry  any  one  of  the 
king's  own  daughters,  with  seven  cities  for  her  dowry ; 
only  now  let  him  come  to  help  against  the  terrible  Hector. 

Nestor  spoke  the  general  approval,  naming  three 
chiefs  to  carry  such  princely  offers,  the  wise  Odysseus, 
the  bold  Ajax,  and  Phoenix,  who  had  been  tutor  of 
Achilles  in  youth.  Attended  by  two  heralds,  those  am- 
bassadors took  their  way  along  the  wave-beaten  shore 
to  that  silent  end  of  the  camp,  where  the  Myrmidons 
had  lain  chafing  in  idleness  while  the  tide  of  war  rose 
and  fell  close  at  hand.  They  found  Achilles  in  his  tent 
playing  the  lyre  as  if  all  were  peace,  and  singing  to 
Patroclus,  the  friend  of  his  heart,  who  alone  kept  him 
company.  At  the  sight  of  the  messengers  he  laid  aside 
his  lyre,  rose  to  give  them  courteous  greeting,  made 
them  sit  down  on  richly  spread  couches,  and  bid  Patro- 
clus fill  out  wine  for  his  guests.  Nor  would  he  listen 
to  their  errand  till  they  had  eaten  as  well  as  drunk  the 
best  he  had  to  set  before  them. 

"  Princes,  all  hail!  whatever  brought  ye  here, 
Qr  strong  necessity  or  urgent  feart 


i 


256  THE  TALE  OF  TROY 

Welcome,  though  Greeks!  for  not  as  foes  ye  came, 
To  me  more  dear  than  all  that  bear  the  name." 

Supper  over,  Odysseus  rose  to  drink  the  health  of 
their  noble  host,  and  went  on  to  lay  before  him  those 
royal  offers  as  proof  of  Agamemnon's  repentance.  If 
the  hero  despised  such  gifts,  let  him  remember  that  on 
him  lay  the  weal  or  woe  of  his  people ;  and  if  that  did 
not  move  him,  could  he  bear  to  hear  proud  Hector's 
boasts  that  no  Greek  was  his  peer. 

Achilles  listened  regardfully,  but  answered  with  un- 
relenting pride.  He  rehearsed  his  wrongs :  the  Greeks 
had  chosen  to  affront  him,  and  must  do  without  the  aid 
of  his  arm  ;  for  shield  against  Hector  let  them  trust 
to  the  wall  they  had  been  fain  to  build,  now  their  best 
champion  had  left  the  open  field ;  for  leader  let  them 
look  to  the  insolent  king,  whose  hateful  gifts  he  spurned; 
had  he  come  to  Troy  to  seek  wife  or  wealth,  he  could 
win  them  for  himself.  In  vain  old  Phoenix  tried  to 
move  him  by  memories  of  his  docile  youth.  In  vain 
blunt  Ajax  reproached  his  sullen  obstinacy.  Courteously, 
but  firmly,  Achilles  dismissed  them  with  a  parting  cup  ; 
and  they  went  back  to  tell  Agamemnon  that  the  hero's 
heart  was  still  hardened  against  him. 

Diomede  alone  was  undismayed  by  the  news,  for  he 
felt  in  himself  a  champion  to  match  Hector.  While  the 
common  men  slept,  Agamemnon  went  restless  from  tent 
to  tent,  taking  counsel  with  the  leaders ;  and  Odysseus 
and  Diomede  stole  among  the  drowsy  foe  to  spy  out 
their  strength  and  to  bring  back  a  trophy  of  snow-white 
horses,  after  slaying  Dolon,  an  adventurous  young  Trojan 
whom  they  encountered  bent  on  a  like  errand  of  dark- 
ness, and  forced  him  to  disclose,  in  vain  hope  of  mere}', 
the  position  of  the  hostile  army. 

Next    morning    Agamemnon,    donning    his    richest 


BATTLES   OF   GODS  AND   HEROES     257 

armour,  with  the  courage  of  desperation,  led  forth  the 
Greeks  to  battle  that  at  first  went  in  their  favour.  But 
the  king,  wounded  by  a  spear,  had  to  withdraw  from 
the  field ;  stout  Diomede  too  was  hurt ;  and  Hector  in 
turn  charged  so  hotly  that  he  swept  all  before  him. 
Paris  this  day  shook  off  his  softer  mood  to  play  the 
warrior.  The  Greeks  were  driven  back  behind  their 
wall,  which  already  the  storming  enemy  had  almost 
broken  through,  when  Poseidon  came  to  its  defence, 
passing  sea  and  land  in  a  few  bounds  of  his  chariot. 
Never  had  the  god  of  ocean  forgotten  his  old  grudge 
against  Troy ;  and  now,  taking  the  form  of  Calchas, 
their  reverent  soothsayer,  he  heartened  the  Greeks  to 
rally  about  Ajax  the  Great,  and  his  namesake,  Ajax  the 
Less,  who  for  a  time  kept  off  the  assailants  with  showers 
of  arrows. 

Nor  was  Poseidon  the  only  god  that  strove  against 
Troy.  Fearing  lest  Zeus  should  after  all  grant  victory 
to  the  city  of  hated  Paris,  Hera  beguiled  her  spouse  by 
borrowing  the  girdle  of  Aphrodite  to  throw  round  her 
such  a  spell  of  enchanting  smiles  that  the  Thunderer 
sank  to  sleep  in  her  arms.  When  he  awoke  he  found 
the  Greeks  once  more  led  on  by  Poseidon  to  victory, 
the  Trojans  flying.  Hector  lying  senseless,  stunned  under 
a  stone  hurled  at  him  by  Ajax.  But  again  Zeus  made 
haste  to  turn  the  scale.  Angrily  reproaching  his  wife 
for  her  deceit,  he  sent  Iris  to  bid  Poseidon  back  to  his 
own  watery  domain,  and  Apollo  to  revive  Hector  and 
cheer  on  the  Trojans.  With  the  sun-god  for  leader, 
they  again  pressed  the  Greeks  to  their  entrenchments, 
through  which  they  burst  in  pursuit,  so  that  soon  a  hot 
fight  raged  about  the  ships,  last  hope  of  Greece,  and  the 
prowess  of  Ajax  and  his  brother  Teucer  was  hard  put  to  it 
to  keep  their  fleet  from  being  set  on  fire. 

CC288)  lOfl 


158  THE  TALE  OF  TROY 

From  the  prow  of  his  own  ship,  Achilles  had  watched 
the  battle,  unmoved  to  take  part  save  by  sending  Patro- 
clus  to  seek  news.  But  Patroclus  could  not  bear  to 
stand  idly  by,  watching  the  ruin  of  Greece.  With  tears 
of  rage  he  begged  his  friend  at  least  to  let  him  lead 
forth  the  Myrmidons,  who  even  yet  might  turn  the  day, 
now  that  Ajax  s  galley  could  be  seen  flaming  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  camp. 

Still  feigning  indifference,  Achilles  gave  him  leave, 
even  equipped  him  in  his  own  armour  and  mounted  him 
on  his  chariot,  driven  by  the  famed  charioteer  Auto- 
medon.  He  charged  him,  indeed,  to  do  no  more  than 
beat  back  the  Trojans  from  the  ships,  the  burning  of 
which  would  cut  off  the  Greeks'  return  ;  but  when  he 
saw  the  fierce  Myrmidons  as  eager  to  be  let  loose  as 
a  pack  of  famished  wolves,  the  hero's  stubborn  heart 
began  to  warm  within  him,  and  he  sent  his  friend  forth 
with  a  prayer  for  victory  and  safe  return,  a  prayer  that 
was  to  be  half  granted  and  half  denied.  Another  heart- 
felt prayer  he  had  made  in  the  martial  passion  he  strove 
to  conceal;  and  his  charge  to  Patroclus  was  to  forbear 
facing  Hector,  worthy  to  die  by  no  sword  but  his  own. 

"  Oh!  would  to  all  the  immortal  powers  above, 
Apollo,  Pallas  and  almighty  Jove, 
That  not  one  Trojan  might  be  left  alive. 
And  not  a  Greek  of  all  the  race  survive; 
Might  only  we  the  vast  destruction  shun. 
And  only  we  destroy  the  accursed  town!" 

At  the  head  of  the  Myrmidons,  Patroclus  rushed 
forth ;  then  the  very  sight  of  him,  mistaken  for  the 
champion  whose  armour  he  wore,  was  enough  to  strike 
panic  among  the  Trojans.  Driven  from  the  ships,  they 
fled  before  his  onset,  streaming  back  over  the  wall  and 
fhe    ditch    choked   with   broken    chariots    and   wounded 


BATTLES   OF   GODS   AND   HEROES     259 

horses.  Once  more  the  tide  of  battle  had  been  turned. 
With  red  slaughter,  Patroclus  chased  off  the  foe  to  Troy, 
nay,  he  even  strove  to  break  through  its  walls,  but  drew 
back  in  awe  when  here  he  was  confronted  by  the  blazing 
aegis  of  Apollo,  proclaiming  that  neither  by  him  nor  by 
Achilles  was  the  city  fated  to  be  overthrown.  He  drew 
back,  yet  only  to  rage  afresh  against  mortal  foes,  and 
forgetful  of  Achilles'  charge,  he  met  Hector  face  to 
face.  It  was  the  god  himself  that,  hidden  in  a  cloud, 
stunned  the  Greek  hero  by  a  crushing  blow,  and  laid 
the  borrowed  plume  of  Achilles  in  the  dust.  Before  he 
could  save  himself.  Hector  was  upon  him,  whose  lance 
made  an  end;  and  with  his  last  breath  Patroclus  gasped 
out  a  warning  to  the  exultant  foe,  that  ere  long  his  soul 
would  follow  to  the  shades. 

"  I  see  thee  fall,  and  by  Achilles'  hand." 

A  crowd  of  champions  closed  over  the  body  of 
Patroclus,  for  which  strove  the  Trojans  led  on  by  Hector, 
now  proudly  clad  in  the  stripped  armour;  and  the  Greeks, 
rallied  round  mighty  Ajax,  would  have  borne  it  off  under 
cover  of  their  shields  locked  together.  So  fierce  was  this 
tug-of-war  that  Zeus  hooded  it  beneath  thundering  dark- 
ness, in  which  the  slaughterers  groped  blindly,  and  Ajax 
cried  with  suppliant  tears — 

"  If  Greece  must  perish,  we  thy  will  obey, 
But  let  us  perish  in  the  face  of  day!" 

At  his  prayer,  the  god  let  daylight  return ;  then  at 
last  the  Greeks  were  able  to  drag  away  their  hero's  corpse 
out  of  reach  of  insulting  hands.  And  when  on  the 
walls  of  the  camp  the  Trojans  saw  arise  the  dread  form 
of  Achilles,  and  heard  his  voice  uplifted  thrice  like  a 
trumpet,   they   fled  in   such  confused  rout  as  to  crush 


26o  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

one  another  to   death   under  the  press  of  chariots  and 
armour. 

Soon  they  would  have  the  whole  Greek  host  sweeping 
forth  upon  them  in  waves  of  steel — 

"  As  from  air  the  frosty  north  wind  blows  a  cold  thick  sleet 
That  dazzles  eyes,  flakes  after  flakes  incessantly  descending; 
So  thick  helms,  curets,^  ashen  darts  and  round  shields  never  ending, 
Flowed  from  the  navy's  hollow  womb;  their  splendours  gave  Heaven's 

eye 
His  beams  again;  Earth  laughed  to  see  her  face  so  like  the  sky; 
Arms  shined  so  hot,  and  she  such  clouds  made  with  the  dust  she  cast, 
She  thundered — feet  of  men  and  horse  importuned  her  so  fast." 

— Chapman. 

The  prince  of  heroes  was  arming  himself  for  battle 

V.  Hector  and  Achilles 

In  his  lonely  tent,  which  was  rather  a  spacious  hall 
built  by  the  Myrmidons  of  pines  and  reeds,  its  en- 
trance barred  by  a  huge  trunk  that  only  he  could  lift 
aside,  Achilles  had  sat  awaiting  the  triumphant  return 
of  Patroclus.  But  when  instead  of  him  came  Antilochus, 
son  of  Nestor,  an  unwilling  messenger  for  heavy  news, 
who  shall  tell  how  the  hero  heard  of  his  friend  slain  and 
his  own  armour  gone  to  deck  the  proud  Hector! 

"  He  grasp'd  the  ashes  scattered  on  the  strand. 
And  on  his  forehead  shower'd  with  either  hand. 
Grimed  his  fair  face,  and  o'er  his  raiment  flung 
The  soil  that  on  its  splendour  darkly  hung, 
His  large  limbs  prone  in  dust,  at  large  outspread. 
And  pluck'd  the  hair  from  his  dishonour'd  head; 
While  all  the  maidens  whom  his  arm  had  won. 
Or  gain'd  in  battle  with  Menetius'  son. 
Left  the  still  shelter  of  their  peaceful  tent, 
And  round  Pelides  mingled  their  lament, 

^  Breastplates. 


HECTOR  AND  ACHILLES  261 

Raised  their  clasped  hands,  and  beat  their  breasts  of  snow. 

And,  swooning,  sunk  on  earth,  overcome  with  woe; 

While  o'er  him  Nestor's  son  in  horror  stood, 

And  grasp'd  his  arm,  half-raised  to  shed  his  blood. 

Deep  groan'd  the  desperate  man,  'twas  death  to  hear 

Groans  that  in  ocean  pierced  the  sea-nymph's  ear. 

His  mother's  ear,  where  deep  beneath  the  tide, 

Dwelt  the  sea-goddess  by  her  father's  side. 

She  heard,  she  shriek'd  while,  gathering  swift  around. 

Came  every  Nereid  from  her  cave  profound." 

— Sotheby. 

Thetis  had  hurried  to  comfort  her  son,  promising  to 
bring  him  new  celestial  armour,  in  which  he  might  take 
vengeance  on  Hector ;  and  Iris,  sent  by  Hera,  stirred 
him  from  his  abject  misery  to  make  that  appearance  on 
the  walls  that  had  scared  the  Trojans  like  the  aegis  of 
some  god.  But  again  the  hero  seemed  beside  himself 
when  they  brought  in  the  body  of  his  friend.  All  night 
he  lamented  over  it  like  a  lioness  robbed  of  her  young, 
washing  with  his  tears  the  cold  limbs,  begrimed  and 
gory,  which  now  could  be  laid  out  for  a  funeral  to  be 
bathed  in  Trojan  blood. 

"  One  fate  the  warrior  and  his  friend  shall  strike, 
And  Troy's  black  sands  must  drink  our  blood  alike. 
Me,  too,  a  wretched  mother  shall  deplore. 
An  aged  father  never  see  me  more! 
Yet,  my  Patroclus,  yet  a  space  I  stay, 
Then  swift  pursue  thee  on  the  darksome  way. 
Ere  thy  dear  relics  in  the  grave  are  laid, 
Shall  Hector's  head  be  offered  to  thy  shade!" 

Meanwhile  Thetis  had  hied  her  to  Vulcan's  smithy, 
where,  at  her  entreaty,  in  one  night  the  god  of  fire  forged 
for  her  son  matchless  armour  of  mingled  metals,  and  a 
wondrous  shield  on  which  were  wrought  pictured  labours 
of  peace  as  well  as  war.     Such  a  godlike  gift  she  brought 


262  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

to  Achilles  at  dawn,  and  the  very  sight  brightened  his 
eyes  like  the  shining  mail,  while  the  clanging  touch 
thrilled  his  heart  as  a  trumpet. 

Without  delay  he  sped  to  Agamemnon,  calling  the 
chiefs  to  arms  as  he  went.  Face  to  face  with  the 
king,  Achilles  briefly  spoke  out  how  his  heart  was  un- 
burdened from  a  wrath  that  had  cost  so  dear  to  the 
Greeks.  Agamemnon,  too,  owned  his  fault,  laying  it 
on  a  mind  blinded  by  fate.  Amid  general  acclaim,  the 
heroes  made  friends.  The  king  again  offered  atoning 
gifts ;  but  all  Achilles  asked  was  instant  battle,  that 
might  wipe  out  in  blood  the  woe  of  their  quarrel. 
Prudent  Odysseus  proposed  delay,  ceremonies  of  recon- 
ciliation, and  a  hearty  meal  to  strengthen  the  warriors 
for  fight.  Let  who  would  feast,  vowed  Achilles,  he 
himself  would  neither  eat  nor  drink  till  he  had  avenged 
his  dead  friend. 

Hungering  for  slaughter,  he  hurried  back  to  his  tent, 
did  on  the  flashing  armour  of  Vulcan,  and  snatched  up 
his  mighty  spear,  which  Patroclus  had  left  untouched, 
not  to  be  wielded  but  by  the  hero's  own  hand.  Roused 
to  fresh  fury  by  the  sight  of  restored  Briseis  weeping 
over  that  lifeless  friend,  he  mounted  his  chariot,  with  a 
sharp  word  to  the  noble  steeds,  demanding  of  them  not 
to  leave  him  on  the  field  as  they  had  left  Patroclus. 
For  a  moment  the  mettled  coursers  stood  still,  then  lo! 
a  marvel,  when  one  of  them  was  inspired  to  answer  its 
master  back  in  human  speech  with  a  boding  that,  if  they 
bore  him  safe  that  day,  his  doom  was  yet  not  far  off. 
The  horse  spoke,  but  the  dauntless  hero  cried — 

"So  let  it  be! 
Portents  and  prodigies  are  lost  on  me: 
I  know  my  fates:  to  die,  to  see  no  more 
My  much  loved  parents  and  my  native  shore— 


HECTOR   AND   ACHILLES  263 

Enough — when  heaven  ordains,  I  sink  in  night. 
Now  perish  Troy!" 

When  like  a  storm  the  Grecian  host  poured  out  on 
the  plain,  Achilles  flashing  at  their  head  in  a  golden  halo 
shed  upon  him  by  Pallas,  on  Olympus  was  held  high 
council,  at  which  Zeus,  unable  to  control  Fate,  gave 
leave  for  the  gods  to  range  themselves  openly  on  either 
side  in  this  greatest  of  battles  about  Troy,  else,  the 
Thunderer  saw,  it  must  fall  forthwith  before  that  hero's 
rage  of  grief.  Hera,  Pallas,  Poseidon,  Hermes,  and 
Hephaestus  fought  now  for  the  Greeks,  while  Ares, 
Aphrodite,  Apollo,  and  Artemis  shone  in  the  Trojan 
ranks.  And  men  strove  like  gods,  high  above  all  Achilles, 
from  whose  sword  jEneas  was  saved  only  in  a  mist  thrown 
over  him  by  Poseidon,  in  pity  for  this  Dardanian  prince 
that  shared  not  the  offence  of  Troy.  So,  too,  Apollo 
for  a  time  hid  Hector  in  clouds  from  his  fellest  foe. 
Raging  like  a  conflagration,  his  chariot  wheels  smoking 
in  blood,  Achilles  charged  through  the  routed  Trojans, 
and  he  spared  neither  suppliant  nor  fugitives,  neither 
old  nor  young,  save  twelve  chosen  captives  set  aside, 
bound  with  their  own  belts,  for  sacrifice  at  the  tomb 
of  Patroclus. 

So  great  was  the  carnage  he  made,  that  the  river- 
god  Scamander,  his  stream  choked  with  corpses,  rose 
against  him  in  gory  flood,  before  which  the  hero  was 
fain  to  turn  and  fly,  and  had  been  swept  away  but  for 
catching  at  an  elm  to  swing  himself  on  to  the  bank. 
Even  then,  the  offended  river  pursued  him  over  the 
plain,  calling  his  comrade  Simois  to  aid,  till  Hephaestus 
helped  Achilles  by  sending  fire  to  scorch  up  the  wooded 
banks;  and  the  hissing  waters  fainted  before  the  breath 
of  flame.  What  wonder  this,  when  Pallas-Athene  herself, 
heaving   a    huge    boundary    stone,   threw  down  with   it 


264  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

Ares,  his  mighty  limbs  sprawling  over  acres  of  ground; 
and  Aphrodite  coming  to  help  him  up,  was  laid  low  by 
a  touch  from  the  same  doughty  goddess;  and  scornful 
Hera  buffeted  and  scolded  Artemis  to  fly  in  tears  to  the 
throne  of  Zeus,  who  meanwhile  looked  down  careless  on 
the  dreadful  arena  that  was  sport  for  him.  But  Apollo 
could  disdain  the  ire  of  his  fellow  deities,  for  to  a  challenge 
from  Poseidon  he  replied — 

"  To  combat  for  mankind 
111  suits  the  wisdom  of  celestial  mind; 
For  what  is  man?     Calamitous  by  birth, 
They  owe  their  life  and  nourishment  to  earth; 
Like  yearly  leaves  that  now,  with  beauty  crowned, 
Smile  on  the  sun,  now  wither  on  the  ground. 
To  their  own  hands  commit  the  frantic  scene, 
Nor  mix  immortals  in  a  cause  so  mean!" 

Yet  Apollo  stood  to  guard  the  gate  of  Troy,  when 
the  beaten  Trojans  poured  through  it,  flying  wildly 
before  the  terrible  Achilles.  Hector  alone  stayed  at  bay 
without,  though  from  the  walls  his  father  and  mother 
stretched  their  hands,  imploring  him  to  seek  shelter. 
The  hero  himself,  rearing  his  head,  like  a  trodden 
snake's,  felt  his  heart  quail  as  that  mightiest  of  foes 
came  on  :  prudence  and  policy  bid  him  draw  back,  while 
shame  and  despair  held  him  fast.  But  when  he  stood 
face  to  face  with  the  irresistible  Achilles,  suddenly  panic- 
stricken,  Troy's  champion  turned  and  fled,  as  he  had 
never  thought  to  fly  before  mortal  man. 

Like  a  panting  dove  before  a  falcon  he  fled.  Through 
their  tears  his  parents  and  comrades  saw  him  run  thrice 
round  the  walls  of  Troy,  pressed  hard  by  Achilles,  who 
bid  the  Greeks  stand  aside,  since  this  prey  was  for  no 
meaner  hand.  Apollo  nerved  Hector's  limbs  for  that 
desperate  race;  and  the  gods,  watching  from  Olympus, 


HECTOR   AND   ACHILLES  265 

hesitated  whether  or  no  to  snatch  him  from  death,  till 
Zeus  weighed  his  fate  in  golden  scales  that  sank  the 
hero's  soul  to  Hades.  Then  Hector,  with  one  vain 
look  at  the  gate  from  which  Achilles  always  cut  him  off, 
turned  for  his  last  fight,  Pallas,  indeed,  deceiving  him  to 
his  doom,  for  she  stood  beside  him  in  the  false  form  of 
his  brother,  Deiphobus,  on  whose  help  he  vainly  relied. 
As  he  confronted  Achilles,  he  sought  a  moment  of 
parley:  now  that  one  or  other  of  them  was  to  die,  let  the 
victor  swear  not  to  dishonour  the  corpse  of  the  van- 
quished.    To  this  his  furious  foe : 

"Accursed,  speak  not  thou  to  me  of  compact,  or  of  troth! 
No  faith  'twixt  men  and  lions,  'twixt  wolves  and  lambs  is  none; 
But  ever  these  the  other  hate  to  harry  or  to  shun: 
So  Icve  and  peace  shall  never  *twixt  me  and  thee  be  blent, 
Till  thou  or  I  on  earth  be  strew'd. 

And  we  the  War-god  rough  and  rude  with  the  rud-red  blood  content." 

— Dean  Merivale. 

Without  more  ado  they  hurled  darts  that  went  amiss, 
then  closed  upon  each  other.  Achilles,  all  aflame,  burned 
more  fiercely  to  see  that  adversary  wearing  his  own 
armour  torn  from  Patroclus.  Ere  long  his  blade  found 
a  joint  to  pierce  between  neck  and  throat.  Hector  fell, 
gasping  out  his  life  with  a  bootless  prayer  for  pious 
burial.  The  last  words  he  heard  were  Achilles'  bitter 
threat  that  his  body  should  feast  the  dogs  and  vultures ; 
and  his  own  last  murmur  warned  the  Grecian  hero  that 
he  too  was  doomed  to  die  before  Troy. 

All  who  saw  held  Troy  already  fallen,  from  whose 
towers  rose  a  din  of  lament,  drowned  in  the  exultation 
of  the  Greeks,  pressing  round  as  Achilles  stripped  the 
body;  yea  some  who  durst  not  have  looked  on  Hector 
living  were  now  forward  with  blows  and  spurns  upon 
his  noble  corpse.     Achilles  himself,  still  maddened  by 


266  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

lust  of  revenge,  bored  through  the  fallen  chief's  feet 
to  tie  them  by  thongs  behind  his  chariot;  then  holding 
up  to  view  the  gory  spoils,  he  dragged  the  naked  limbs 
in  the  dust,  before  the  eyes  of  his  old  parents,  shrieking 
and  tearing  their  thin  locks.  Andromache  was  sitting 
at  her  loom  when  she  heard  the  mournful  outcry,  to 
bring  her  in  haste  to  the  walls,  half- guessing  what  she 
should  see,  that  when  seen,  blinded  her  eyes  in  swoon- 
ing misery. 

Hector's  mangled  and  defiled  body  was  cast  on  the 
shore  beside  the  bier  of  Patroclus,  round  which  Achilles 
made  his  chariots  and  Myrmidons  circle  thrice  in  honour 
of  the  dead  hero,  before  they  took  food  or  rest.  When 
the  weary  chief  lay  down  to  sleep,  his  friend's  restless 
shade  appeared  at  his  side,  urging  him  no  longer  to 
delay  due  rites  of  burial. 

"  Sleep*st  thou,  Achilleus,  nor  rememberest  me? 
Living,  thou  lov'dst  me;  dead,  I  fade  from  thee: 
Entomb  me  quick  that  I  may  pass  death's  door; 
For  the  ghosts  drive  me  from  their  company, 
Nor  let  me  join  them  on  the  further  shore: 
So  in  the  waste  wide  courts  I  wander  evermore. 
Reach  me  thy  hand,  I  pray;  for  ne'er  again. 
The  pile  once  lit,  shalt  thou  behold  thy  mate: 
Never  in  life  apart  from  our  brave  train 
Shall  we  take  counsel:  but  the  selfsame  fate 
Enthralls  me  now  that  by  my  cradle  sate. 
Thou  too  art  doomed,  Achilleus  the  divine, 
To  fall  and  die  by  sacred  Troia's  gate. 
Yet  one  thing  more,  wilt  thou  thine  ear  incline; 
Let  not  my  bones  in  death  lie  separate  from  thine." 

— Conington, 

The  haunting  ghost  was  soon  to  be  laid.  Next  day 
Agamemnon  sent  out  a  band  of  men  to  hew  down  wood 
for  a  wide-piled  funeral  pyre.      On  this  the  body  was 


HECTOR  AND   ACHILLES  267 

laid,  strewn  over  with  locks  of  hair  which  his  comrades 
cut  from  their  own  heads  as  offerings  to  the  shade. 
Oxen  and  sheep,  four  noble  steeds,  and  two  household 
dogs  were  sacrificed  to  be  thrown  on  the  heap,  and  with 
them  the  twelve  hapless  Trojan  captives.  The  pile  was 
slow  to  light  till  the  son  of  Thetis  prayed  for  favour- 
ing winds,  Boreas  and  Zephyrus,  that  flew  to  fan  it 
into  crackling  blaze.  Oil  and  wine  were  poured  upon 
the  flames  burning  all  night,  while  beside  them  Achilles 
watched  restless ;  then  in  the  morning  he  quenched  the 
ashes  with  wine  to  gather  them  in  a  golden  urn,  above 
which  should  be  heaped  a  mound  hiding  the  remnants 
of  the  fire. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Funeral  games  must  be  held,  with 
rich  prizes  given  by  Achilles,  for  which  Agamemnon  him- 
self did  not  disdain  to  contend  in  honour  of  the  dead. 
Henceforth  the  two  chiefs  were  friends ;  and  Achilles 
led  the  host  when  again  it  marched  forth  against  Troy. 

Within  Troy  now  all  was  woe  and  wailing,  as  day 
after  day  the  insatiable  avenger  could  be  seen  dragging 
the  body  of  its  champion  thrice  round  the  pile  sacred 
to  Patroclus.  Pitying  gods  preserved  Hector's  corpse 
from  decay,  and  when  twelve  days  had  gone,  Zeus  was 
moved  to  save  it  from  dishonour.  He  sent  Thetis  to 
soften  her  son's  heart  that  he  might  agree  to  let  it  be 
ransomed.  Then  from  the  walls,  in  a  chariot  loaded  with 
rich  gifts,  came  forth  old  Priam  to  throw  himself  at  the 
feet  of  Achilles,  clasping  his  knees  and  praying  him,  as 
he  revered  his  own  father,  to  give  up  the  body  of  that 
noblest  son. 

He  bent  his  grey  head,  ready  to  take  death  for  an 
answer,  and  those  looking  on  feared  that  the  rage  of 
Achilles  might  burst  forth  upon  this  helpless  suppliant 
of  the  hated  race.     But  at  once  the  stern  hero's  mood 


2  68  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

was  turned  by  gentle  compassion.  He  raised  the  old 
king,  he  granted  his  request,  he  had  a  couch  laid  for 
him  in  his  tent,  where  Priam  slept  for  the  first  time 
since  Hector's  death.  Yet  early  in  the  morning,  fearing 
to  fall  a  prey  to  the  pride  of  Agamemnon,  he  stole  away 
with  the  body,  now  washed  and  anointed,  and  brought 
it  safe  within  the  gates  of  Troy. 

The  generous  Achilles  had  promised  a  twelve  days' 
truce,  that  Hector's  body  might  be  duly  buried.  So 
this  hero's  spirit,  too,  could  sleep  in  peace,  honoured 
by  solemn  rites  and  warm  tears.  And  among  all  the 
farewells  of  his  friends  and  kindred,  none  spoke  from 
the  heart  more  than  the  stranger  Helen,  for  whose  sake 
he  had  died. 

**  Ah,  dearer  far  than  all  my  brothers  else 
Of  Priam's  house!  for  being  Paris'  spouse, 
Who  brought  me  (would  I  had  first  died!)  to  Troy, 
I  call  thy  brothers  mine;  since  forth  I  came 
From  Sparta,  it  is  now  the  twentieth  year, 
Yet  never  heard  I  once  hard  speech  from  thee, 
Or  taunt  morose,  but  if  it  ever  chanced, 
That  of  thy  father's  house  female  or  male 
Blamed  me,  and  even  if  herself  the  Queen, 
(For  in  the  King,  whate'er  befell,  I  found 
Always  a  father,)  thou  hast  interposed 
Thy  gentle  temper  and  thy  gentle  speech 
To  soothe  them;  therefore,  with  the  same  sad  drops 
Thy  fate,  oh  Hector,  and  my  own  I  weep; 
For  other  friend  within  the  ample  bounds 
Of  Ilium  have  I  none,  nor  hope  to  hear 
Kind  word  again,  with  horror  view'd  by  all." 

— Cotvper. 

Here  ends  the  story  of  Homer's  Iliad.  But  others 
tell  how  fresh  heroes  came  to  take  the  place  of  Hector 
as  shield  of  Troy.  There  came  the  warlike  Amazons, 
led  by  their  queen  Penthesilea,  before  whom  the  Greeks 


HECTOR  AND   ACHILLES  269 

could  not  stand,  till  she  fell  by  the  spear  of  Achilles. 
But  on  tearing  off  her  helmet,  he  stood  as  if  spellbound 
in  sorrow  for  the  withering  of  so  fair  a  face ;  and  when 
Thersites,  after  his  kind,  jeered  at  the  hero's  ruth,  Achilles 
struck  this  vile  mocker  dead  with  a  single  buffet. 

Next  Priam's  nephew  Memnon,  the  noble  Egyptian, 
brought  a  band  of  dusky  warriors  to  the  aid  of  Troy. 
Him,  too,  the  son  of  Peleus  overthrew  after  a  hard  con- 
test; but  Zeus  for  the  sake  of  his  mother  Aurora  granted 
to  him,  as  to  his  father  Tithonus,  the  boon  of  immor- 
tality; and  on  earth  was  raised  in  his  honour  that  colossal 
statue  that,  men  say,  gave  forth  a  voice  as  often  as  it 
was  struck  by  the  rising  sun. 

Then  at  last  dawned  Achilles'  day  to  die.  Nine 
years  past,  Poseidon,  friend  as  he  was  to  the  Greeks, 
had  vowed  vengeance  against  their  champion,  when,  in 
one  of  their  first  onsets,  he  slew  the  god's  son,  Cygnus, 
fighting  for  Troy.  The  lord  of  ocean  now  charged 
Apollo  with  the  fate  of  a  foe  his  trident  could  not 
pierce.  One  spot  in  the  hero's  body  was  alone  vulner- 
able, the  heel  by  which  his  mother  held  him  when 
dipped  in  the  water  of  Styx.  To  that  spot  the  archer- 
god  guided  a  chance  shaft  of  Paris ;  and  thus  unworthily 
fell  the  warrior  that  had  sent  so  many  souls  down 
to  Hades.  But,  if  poets  tell  true,  he  himself  had 
a  nobler  fate,  borne  away  by  his  mother  to  endless  life 
in  some  happy  island  far  from  the  eyes  of  common  men. 

Sore  was  the  mourning  for  Achilles  in  the  Grecian 
camp. 

**  Ten  days  and  seven,  with  all  their  space  of  night, 
Both  gods  and  mortals  we  bewailed  thee  there. 
But  on  the  morning  of  the  eighteenth  light 
We  gave  thee  to  the  fire,  and  victims  fair 
Slew  round  thee,  sheep  and  oxen;  and  the  air 


11  o  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

Hung  sweet  with  smoke,  thou  burning  in  rich  state 
Of  robes  divine,  sweet  honey,  and  unguents  rare, 
While  with  a  noise  of  arms  about  thee  wait 
Horsemen  alike  and  footmen;  and  the  cry  was  great. 

"  At  sunrise,  when  the  fire  had  ceased  to  burn, 
Thy  cinders  white  in  oil  and  unmixed  wine 
We  gathered,  and  thy  mother  gave  an  urn 
All-golden,  calling  it  the  gift  divine 
Of  Dionysus,  moulded  from  the  mine 
By  work-renowned  Hephaestus:  there  abide 
The  ashes  of  Patroclus,  mixed  with  thine; 
Antilochus  lies  separate  at  thy  side. 
Best  loved  of  all  thy  comrades,  when  Patroclus  died." 

— JVorsiey:  Odyssey, 

As  Troy  had  seemed  ready  to  fall  with  Hector's 
death,  so  the  loss  of  their  champion  for  a  time  dis- 
heartened the  host  of  Agamemnon.  And  even  in  death, 
Achilles  had  left  among  them  a  legacy  of  strife.  His 
marvellous  shield  and  armour,  wrought  by  Hephaestus, 
were  to  go  to  the  bravest  of  the  Greeks — a  gift  nigh  as 
fatal  as  the  golden  apple  from  which  grew  all  that  woe. 
For  when  by  the  voice  of  Trojan  captives  such  a  prize 
was  adjudged  to  Odysseus,  as  their  doughtiest  foe  in 
valour  as  in  wisdom,  great  Ajax  went  mad  for  vexation, 
and  killed  himself  by  his  own  hand  on  a  hecatomb  of 
harmless  sheep  he  had  taken  for  threatening  warriors. 
But  that  priceless  armour  Odysseus  gave  up  to  the  ruddy- 
haired  son  of  Achilles,  who,  grown  to  manhood  beside 
his  mother,  Deidamia  of  Scyros,  was  now  brought  to 
the  war  in  obedience  to  an  oracle  declaring  that  without 
his  young  arm  Troy  could  not  be  overthrown. 


THE   FALL  OF  TROY  271 

VL  The  Fall  of  Troy 

Still  Troy  did  not  yield,  for  all  the  heroes  battering 
ever  at  its  gates.  Achilles'  son,  Pyrrhus,  whom  the 
Greeks  named  Neoptolemus,  "  new  in  war ",  showed 
himself  a  true  branch  of  heroic  stock ;  but  neither  for 
him  did  the  walls  fall  that  had  held  out  against  his 
father.  Then  Calchas  the  seer,  offering  sacrifice,  read 
in  the  entrails  of  the  victim  that  Troy  would  not  be 
taken  without  the  arrows  of  Hercules,  given  in  legacy 
to  his  friend  Philoctetes. 

This  hero  had  indeed  sailed  from  Aulis  with  the 
rest  of  the  Greeks,  but  going  on  shore  he  had  been 
bitten  by  a  serpent,  and  the  wound  festered  so  loath- 
somely, seeming  like  to  breed  a  pestilence,  that,  to  be 
rid  of  his  ceaseless  cries,  his  shipmates  set  Philoctetes 
on  the  isle  of  Lemnos,  and  there  left  him  to  shift  for 
himself.  Ten  years  having  passed,  he  might  well  be 
dead  long  ago  ;  but  when  Odysseus  and  Pyrrhus  sailed 
to  Lemnos,  they  found  him  still  alive,  gaunt  and  ragged, 
and  full  of  rancour  against  the  Greeks  who  had  de- 
serted him  to  make  his  solitary  abode  in  a  cave,  killing 
game  with  the  bow  and  arrows  that  should  have  been 
aimed  at  Troy.  These  messengers  had  much  ado  to 
gain  his  goodwill ;  but  by  persuasion  and  by  threats  of 
force  they  brought  him  away  to  the  camp  in  the  Troad, 
where  at  last  a  skilled  physician  healed  him  of  his 
grievous  hurt.  But  no  healing  could  help  a  wound  made 
by  the  arrows  of  Hercules,  poisoned  in  the  Lernaean 
hydra's  black  blood ;  and  by  one  of  them  it  was  that 
Paris  now  met  a  miserable  death. 

Again  spoke  an  oracle  that  Troy  could  not  fall  so 
long  as  it  treasured  its  Palladium,  that  image  of  Pallas 


2  72  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

fallen  from  heaven.  Again  Odysseus  showed  himself 
bold  as  well  as  cunning.  He  and  Diomede,  in  beggars' 
weeds,  slunk  by  night  within  the  walls  of  Troy,  known 
to  none  in  that  disguise  save  only  to  Helen,  but  she, 
for  fear  or  shame,  did  not  betray  her  old  friends,  though 
well  aware  that  they  came  on  no  friendly  errand.  Her 
heart  was  now  going  back  to  her  true  husband,  whose 
feats  of  arms  she  beheld  daily  from  the  walls ;  and  she 
even  helped  his  comrades  to  steal  from  the  temple  of 
Pallas  that  sacred  image.  So  unhurt  they  brought  it 
at  daybreak  to  the  camp,  to  be  hailed  by  the  exulting 
Greeks  as  a  sure  sign  of  victory. 

Yet  still  those  oracles  seemed  to  befool  the  army, 
against  which  Troy  held  out  stoutly  as  ever.  When 
the  chiefs  could  no  longer  bind  their  followers  to  the 
weary  war,  Odysseus  hit  on  the  device  that  was  at  last 
to  make  an  end.  By  his  counsel  they  framed  a  huge 
horse  of  wood,  moved  on  wheels,  and  hollow  inside  to 
hold  twelve  men,  of  whom  he  made  one,  along  with 
Diomede,  Pyrrhus,  and  other  chosen  warriors.  Leaving 
this  fabric  full  in  view,  charged  with  its  baleful  freight, 
the  Greeks  sailed  away  through  the  night,  as  if  they 
had  given  up  the  siege  in  despair ;  but  they  cast  anchor 
under  the  isle  of  Tenedos,  in  sight  of  the  Trojan  shore. 

Those  so  long  cooped  up  within  Troy  at  first  could 
hardly  trust  their  eyes  when  in  the  morning  they  saw 
the  enemy's  camp  deserted  behind  its  smouldering  watch 
fires.  Then  like  bees  they  came  swarming  out  of  the 
gates  to  spread  freely  over  the  fields  that  for  ten  years 
they  had  trod  but  in  hasty  sallies.  Eagerly  they  roamed 
from  one  scene  to  another  of  the  quenched  war,  the  wall 
raised  about  the  Greek  camp,  the  shore  still  furrowed 
by  vanished  keels,  the  site  of  Agamemnon's  tent,  the 
quarters  of  Achilles   and   of  Ajax,  the  towering  burial 


THE   FALL   OF   TROY  273 

mound  of  Patroclus,  the  banks  of  the  Scamander  erst- 
while choked  by  corpses.  But  nothing  held  their  thank- 
ful eyes  like  that  strange  shape  of  a  wooden  horse :  what 
could  it  be,  and  why  left  behind  by  the  retreating  enemy? 
Some  were  for  dragging  it  off  into  the  city,  even  if  the 
gates  had  to  be  broken  down  to  give  it  passage ;  but 
others  cried  for  caution,  and  loudest  of  all  Laocoon,  the 
priest  of  Apollo,  who  ran  up  to  warn  his  countrymen 
that  here  must  be  some  deceit. 

"  Deem  ye  the  foe  hath  passed  away?     Deem  ye  that  Danaan  gifts 
May  ever  lack  due  share  of  guile?     Are  these  Ulysses'  shifts? 
For  either  the  Achaeans  lurk  within  this  fashioned  tree, 
Or  't  is  an  engine  wrought  with  craft,  bane  of  our  walls  to  be, 
To  look  into  our  very  homes  and  scale  the  town  perforce: 
Some  guile  at  least  therein  abides:  Teucrians,  trust  not  the  horse!" 

— William  Morris.'^ 

"The  very  gifts  of  the  Greeks  are  dangerous,"  he 
ended,  and  flung  a  spear  piercing  the  hollow  wood  to 
stir  a  rattle  of  arms  within ;  then,  were  not  the  Trojans 
blinded  by  their  fate,  that  trick  would  forthwith  have 
been  disclosed  and  Priam's  kingdom  stood  firm  as  of  old. 

While  some  spoke  of  cutting  the  ominous  gift  to 
pieces,  and  some  of  hurling  it  over  a  rock  into  the  sea, 
there  went  a  rumour  through  the  throng  that  drew  all 
eyes  away,  turned  on  a  prisoner  whom  certain  shepherds 
had  found  lurking  in  the  sedge  by  the  shore,  and  he  gave 
himself  up  to  be  led  bound  before  Priam.  This  was 
Sinon,  a  young  Greek  self-devoted  to  play  a  treacherous 
part,  sure  of  death  if  it  failed.  Trembling  and  tearful 
he  bemoaned  his  lot  as  a  victim  both  of  friends  and  foes, 
till  the  Trojans,  taking  pity,  urged  him  to  say  who  he 
was,  and  how  he  came  into  such  sorry  plight.     Feigning 

1  Where  another  translator  is  not  named,  the  citations  here  are  from  Drvden*? 


274  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

to  lay  aside  his  fear,  he  let  himself  be  heartened  into 
telling  an  artful  tale,  which  seemed  borne  out  by  his 
unarmed  nakedness.  He  spoke  his  name,  and  did  not 
deny  his  race. 

"  Though  plunged  by  Fortune's  power  in  misery, 
'T  is  not  in  Fortune's  power  to  make  me  lie." 

He  had  come  to  the  war,  he  said,  a  boy  in  charge 
of  his  father's  friend  Palamedes,  against  whom  Odysseus 
ever  bore  a  grudge.  By  his  wiles,  it  was  the  fate  of 
Palamedes  to  be  accused  of  treason  and  put  to  death  ; 
then  Sinon,  faithfully  holding  to  the  innocence  of  his 
lord,  had  threatened  revenge  on  Odysseus,  so  as  to  bring 
on  himself  the  ill  will  of  such  a  powerful  chief.  Let 
the  Trojans  kill  him,  and  they  would  do  a  pleasure  to 
that  enemy,  and  to  the  leaders  of  the  Greeks,  whose 
minds  a  hateful  tongue  had  poisoned  against  him. 

But  Priam's  people,  touched  by  compassion,  en- 
couraged  the  unfortunate  youth  to  have  no  fear ;  and 
he  went  on  with  his  lying  tale. 

The  Greeks,  weary  of  the  war,  had  designed  to  with- 
draw for  a  time ;  but  contrary  winds  hindered  them  from 
setting  sail  for  their  native  land ;  and  celestial  prodigies 
warned  them  of  divine  power  to  be  appeased.  An  oracle 
declared  that  as  Iphigenia  had  been  doomed  at  Aulis, 
so  now  another  victim  must  be  offered  to  buy  a  favour- 
ing homeward  wind.  Calchas,  won  over  by  Odysseus, 
pointed  out  Sinon  as  the  chosen  sacrifice ;  and  all  who 
feared  the  lot  might  fall  elsewhere,  were  content  to  let 
him  die.  Already  the  altar  and  the  sacrificial  array  were 
prepared,  when  he  broke  his  fetters,  and  fled  for  hiding 
to  a  swamp,  from  which  he  had  the  joy  of  seeing  the 
Greek  ships  sail  away,  leaving  him  still  alive  on  the 
hostile  soil. 


THE   FALL  OF  TROY  275 

Hostile  no  longer,  Priam  bid  him  believe,  ordering 
the  prisoner  to  be  freed  from  his  bonds ;  for  the  Trojans 
made  him  welcome  as  an  ally,  who  had  so  little  cause 
to  love  his  own  countrymen.  And  now  they  pressed 
him  to  declare  what  meant  that  wooden  horse,  as  he 
glibly  did,  raising  his  unbound  hands  to  heaven  in  pro- 
test that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

The  goddess  Pallas,  they  were  to  know,  had  taken 
dire  offence  at  the  Greeks  for  stealing  her  image  from 
Troy.  Before  sailing  for  Greece,  with  purpose  to  return 
anon  under  better  auspices,  the  soothsayer  Calchas  bid 
them  placate  her  by  forming  and  dedicating  this  figure, 
made  so  huge  by  cunning  design,  that  it  might  not  enter 
the  city  gates,  for  if  once  it  could  be  placed  as  an  offer- 
ing in  Athene's  temple,  it  must  prove  a  shield  for  the 
Trojans  like  that  robbed  Palladium,  whereas  if  they  dared 
to  injure  it  by  fire  or  iron,  their  own  profane  hands  would 
bring  ruin  on  Troy. 

"  With  such  deceits  he  gained  their  easy  hearts, 
Too  prone  to  credit  his  perfidious  arts. 
What  Diomede,  nor  Thetis'  greater  son, 
A  thousand  ships,  nor  ten  years'  siege  had  done^ 
False  tears  and  fawning  words  the  city  won!" 

Then,  lo!  a  portent  seemed  to  confirm  Sinon's  lies. 
As  Laocoon  now  stood  in  act  to  sacrifice  a  steer  to 
Poseidon,  over  the  sea  came  skimming  two  enormous 
serpents,  that  drew  themselves  on  land  and,  with  hissing 
heads  upreared,  slid  straight  for  the  altar.  They  first 
fell  upon  the  priest's  two  young  sons  standing  there  too 
scared  to  fly,  till  the  scaly  coils  were  wound  about  their 
limbs.  While  the  other  spectators  stared  in  speechless 
amazement,  Laocoon  with  a  cry  ran  to  plunge  his  knife 
into   those  throats  already  gorging  on  his  boys'   flesh; 


276  THE  TALE   OF  TROY 

but  him  also  the  monsters  involved  in  their  loathsome 
embrace,  twisting  twice  round  his  neck  and  his  waist, 
to  crush  all  three,  laced  together  in  helpless  torment. 
Laocoon  and  his  sons  being  thus  choked  to  death,  the 
serpents  glided  on  to  hide  themselves  in  the  temple  of 
Pallas,  without  harming  any  other  Trojan,  so  that  they 
seemed  sent  as  ministers  of  divine  vengeance  on  the 
priest  who  had  thrown  a  spear  at  that  consecrated  image. 

The  cry  arose  that  Laocoon  was  justly  punished,  and 
that  the  Horse  should  forthwith  be  taken  in,  as  an  offer- 
ing grateful  to  the  goddess.  The  infatuated  Trojans 
harnessed  themselves  to  that  fatal  machine,  dragging  it 
up  to  the  town  with  songs  and  shouts  of  welcome,  else 
at  every  jolt  they  might  have  heard  the  clash  of  arms 
in  its  hollow  womb.  They  even  broke  a  breach  in 
their  wall  to  let  it  pass ;  and,  when  it  was  stowed  in 
the  temple,  all  the  people  gave  themselves  up  to  feast 
and  jollity,  their  weapons  thrown  aside  as  no  longer 
needed,  and  the  gates  left  unguarded  on  what  was  to 
be  the  last  night  of  Troy. 

With  the  rest  had  entered  that  false  Sinon,  who,  as 
soon  as  darkness  fell,  from  the  highest  tower  made 
signals  with  a  torch  to  the  Greek  fleet  at  Tenedos.  The 
ships  stood  back  to  the  Trojan  shore,  and  poured  out 
their  freight  of  warriors  to  steal  up  to  the  walls,  unseen 
and  unheard  by  those  careless  revellers.  While  all  Troy 
sank  to  sleep,  heavy-headed  with  wine,  Sinon  let  out  the 
warriors  hid  inside  the  fatal  Horse.  They  hastened 
to  open  the  gates  for  their  friends  without ;  but  that  was 
hardly  needful,  since  the  enemy  themselves  had  broken 
down  their  own  wall ;  then  at  dead  of  night  a  sudden 
din  roused  the  Trojans,  alas !   too  late  to  save  their  city. 

TEneas,  become  Priam's  chief  defence  since  Hector's 
death,  was  disturbed  in  his  sleep  by  the  pale  ghost  of 


THE   FALL   OF  TROY  277 

that  hero,  who,  all  befouled  by  dust  and  blood,  seemed 
to  bid  him  fly,  since  now  it  was  useless  to  fight  for  Troy. 
He  started  up  to  hear  the  streets  alive  with  a  tumult  of 
clashing  arms,  clanging  trumpets,  exulting  shouts,  cries  of 
amazement,  entreaty,  and  lamentation,  all  mingled  with 
the  crackle  of  flames.  He  looked  out  to  see  a  glare 
of  fire  spreading  through  his  neighbours'  houses,  already 
crashing  in  ruin.  He  ran  forth  to  meet  a  priest,  bur- 
dened with  the  sacred  things  of  his  god.  "  Troy  is  no 
more!"  exclaimed  this  fugitive,  and  breathlessly  told  how 
the  Greeks  were  upon  them. 

Such  as  he  might  think  only  of  escaping  for  their 
lives;  but  ^neas  made  rather  for  where  the  fight  raged 
loudestj  and  soon  fell  in  with  a  small  band  of  his  com- 
rades, willing  like  himself  to  make  a  desperate  stand. 
So  confused  were  the  deeds  of  darkness,  that  presently 
they  became  mixed  up  with  a  band  of  plunderers,  who 
hailed  them  as  Greeks  and  could  be  cut  down  before 
they  saw  their  mistake.  Taking  all  advantage  of  such 
disorder,  ^neas  and  his  followers  hastily  stripped  the 
fallen  men,  to  put  on  their  shields  and  helmets;  and  thus 
disg^uised,  they  slew  so  many  of  the  enemy,  that  some 
straggling  bands  fled  back  towards  their  ships  or  hid 
themselves  within  the  Wooden  Horse.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Trojans  might  well  mistake  these  friends  for 
foes ;  and  when  they  ran  to  rescue  Cassandra  dragged 
along  by  her  hair  in  ruthless  hands,  they  were  over- 
whelmed under  a  hail  of  stones  flung  down  from  the 
walls  of  a  temple  held  against  the  Greeks. 

The  Greeks  soon  rallied  and  came  swarming  back ; 
then,  one  by  one,  -^neas  saw  his  brave  comrades  fall 
in  the  medley.  He  himself  courted  death  in  vain ;  but 
he  was  borne  away  in  the  throng  of  fighters  and  flyers 
to  where,  above   all,  a  fresh  uproar  broke  out   around 


lyS  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

Priam's  palace,  hotly  stormed,  and  as  hotly  defended. 
Intent  on  saving  the  king,  he  made  his  way  inside 
through  a  secret  postern,  then  sprang  towards  the  highest 
tower,  already  shaking  under  the  battering  of  the  assail- 
ants. Soon  their  axes  burst  open  the  gate,  and  in  they 
poured,  young  Pyrrhus  raging  like  a  beast  of  prey  at 
their  head,  before  whom  maids  and  matrons  fled  shriek- 
ing from  court  to  court,  and  from  chamber  to  chamber, 
in  vain  seeking  to  escape  death  or  slavery. 

The  queen  Hecuba  and  her  attendants  had  taken 
refuge  with  Priam  at  his  household  altar,  the  old  king 
encumbered  with  hastily  donned  armour  and  weapons  he 
could  no  longer  wield.  Here  came  flying  their  young 
son  Polites,  hard  pressed  by  the  raging  Pyrrhus,  whose 
spear  laid  him  dead  at  his  father's  feet.  Crying  out  to 
the  gods  against  such  cruelty,  Priam,  beside  himself  for 
grief,  with  shaking  hand  threw  a  dart  that  jingled  harm- 
lessly on  the  rabid  warrior's  shield,  and  but  challenged 
him  to  savage  bloodshed.  He  dragged  down  the  old 
man,  butchering  him  at  his  own  altar  beside  the  body 
of  his  son. 

"  And  never  did  the  Cyclops'  hammers  fall 
On  Mars  his  armours,  forged  for  proof  eterne, 
With  less  remorse  than  Pyrrhus'  bleeding  sword 
Now  falls  on  Priam." 

— Shakespeare, 

-^neas  had  come  in  time  to  witness  this  slaughter, 
which  he  would  fain  have  avenged.  But  he  stood  alone; 
and  the  gruesome  sight  recalled  to  him  his  own  helpless 
father  in  peril  along  with  his  wife  and  child.  His  com- 
rades were  dead  or  fled ;  some  had  even  leaped  into  the 
flames  in  the  horror  of  despair.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  turn  while  escape  was  yet  open.  As  he  sped 
away,  the  glare  of  the  conflagration  showed  him  Helen 


THE   FALL  OF   TROY  279 

crouched  in  a  porch,  her  face  muffled  from  the  two 
peoples  to  whom  she  had  wrought  such  woe.  jEneas 
had  a  mind  to  slay  this  curse  of  his  country  and  hers. 
But  between  the  sword  and  its  graceless  victim  came 
a  radiant  apparition  of  his  goddess -mother,  who  urged 
him  forthwith  to  save  his  family,  since  hostile  deities 
were  invisibly  upheaving  the  stones  of  Troy  and  stirring 
the  conflagration  kindled  by  Achaean  hands. 

Leaving  Helen  to  face  her  wronged  husband  as  she 
could,  the  son  of  Venus  turned  away  with  swelling  heart, 
and  under  his  divine  mother*s  protection,  came  safe 
through  flames  and  fights  to  his  own  house.  But  there 
old  Anchises  refused  to  be  a  burden  to  him:  let  the 
doughty  warrior  escape,  taking  with  him  his  wife  Creusa 
and  his  son  lulus,  for  whom  the  grandsire  foretold  high 
destinies ;  he  himself  did  not  care  to  outlive  the  fall  of 
Troy;  he  would  stay  and  perish  like  Priam,  in  the  tide  of 
flames  that  came  already  raging  up  to  their  doors.  But 
the  dutiful  ^Eneas  would  not  leave  his  father  behind ;  he 
took  the  old  man  on  his  shoulders,  giving  him  to  carry 
the  most  sacred  relics  of  the  hearth,  which  the  hero  durst 
not  touch  with  his  own  blood-stained  hands.  Little  lulus 
he  led  along ;  and  Creusa  followed  behind.  His  servants 
he  ordered  to  escape  separately,  saving  what  they  could, 
3ind  taking  each  his  own  way,  a  cypress -shaded  temple 
beyond  the  walls  being  appointed  as  meeting-place. 

Thus  -/Eneas  left  his  home,  picking  out  dark  and 
devious  passages  through  the  burning  city,  for  he,  late 
so  fierce  in  fight,  was  afraid  of  every  shadow  now  that 
these  helpless  dear  ones  were  in  danger  at  his  side. 
Silently  they  slunk  to  a  broken  gate,  but  there  Anchises 
cried  that  he  saw  the  glittering  arms  of  Greeks  close  at 
hand;  then  his  son  hurried  on  to  plunge  into  the  dark- 
ness outside  the  walls.     When  he  ventured  to  halt  and 


28o  THE   TALE   OF  TROY 

look  round,  he  missed  his  wife,  gone  astray  in  their  con- 
fused haste ;  and  when  he  reached  the  temple  at  which 
they  should  meet,  Creusa  was  not  there. 

Distracted  by  anxiety,  iEneas  left  the  band  of  fugi- 
tives and  ran  back  to  the  city.  Sword  in  hand,  he  dashed 
through  smoke  and  sparks,  retracing  the  line  of  his  flight 
in  a  vain  search  for  Creusa,  whose  name  he  recklessly 
kept  calling  into  the  darkness.  He  pushed  on  as  far  as 
his  house,  to  find  it  on  fire  and  full  of  plundering  foes. 
He  flew  to  her  father  Priam's  palace  in  faint  hope 
she  might  have  taken  shelter  there.  Alas !  before  the 
temple  of  Hera,  he  saw  a  flock  of  weeping  mothers  and 
children  standing  captive  beside  a  heap  of  rich  spoil, 
guarded  by  Odysseus  and  old  Phoenix.  Was  this  the 
lot  of  his  hapless  spouse;  or  was  hers  among  the  bleed- 
ing corpses  over  which  he  stumbled  at  every  step.^^  Then 
suddenly  she  stood  before  him,  not  indeed  her  living 
self,  but  a  glimmering  and  looming  shape  that  struck 
him  dumb  for  dread.  His  hair  standing  on  end,  he 
listened  aghast  to  a  voice  which  death  inspired  with 
prophecy. 

"  Why  grieve  so  madly,  husband  mine, 
Nought  here  has  chanced  without  design: 
Fate  and  the  Sire  of  all  decree 
Creusa  shall  not  cross  the  sea. 
Long  years  of  exile  must  be  yours; 
Vast  seas  must  tire  your  labouring  oars; 
At  length  Hesperia  you  shall  gain, 
Where  through  a  rich  and  peopled  plain 

Soft  Tiber  rolls  his  tide: 
There  a  new  realm,  a  royal  wife 
Shall  build  again  your  shattered  life. 
Weep  not  your  dear  Creusa's  fate. 
Ne'er  through  Mycenae's  haughty  gate 

A  captive  shall  I  ride, 
Nor  swell  some  Grecian  matron's  train— 


THE   FALL   OF   TROY  281 

I — born  of  Dardan  princes'  strain 

To  Venus'  seed  allied; 
Heaven's  mighty  mother  keeps  me  here. 
Farewell,  and  hold  our  offspring  dear." 

— Conington. 

With  these  words,  she  seemed  to  glide  away.  He 
would  have  held  her,  throwing  his  arms  round  the 
beloved  neck,  but  they  clasped  empty  air:  Creusa  had 
vanished  like  a  dream. 

The  night  passed  in  such  scenes  of  agitation  and 
amazement.  Day  began  to  break  as  the  hero,  still  un- 
hurt, made  his  way  back  to  that  temple  outside  the  walls, 
where  in  his  absence  were  gathered  together  a  band  of 
Trojans,  men,  women,  and  children,  pale  in  the  glare  of 
their  burning  homes.  Already  dawn  showed  the  walls 
of  the  city  guarded  by  its  triumphant  foes.  The  ten 
years'  warfare  was  over,  the  decree  of  fate  fulfilled. 
There  being  no  more  hope  in  fight,  these  hapless  fugi- 
tives turned  their  backs  on  the  ruin  of  Troy,  and  followed 
-^neas  to  the  sheltering  wilds  of  Mount  Ida. 

Thence  they  gained  the  seashore,  to  build  ships  and 
launch  forth  in  search  of  the  new  home  foretold  by 
Creusa's  shade.  Seven  years  were  they  driven  here  and 
there  upon  the  sea,  for  still  Juno  followed  them  with  her 
implacable  hatred  of  Troy,  enlisting  the  winds  and  waves 
to  war  against  its  wandering  sons,  as  is  told  in  Virgil's 
Mneid.  But  at  last,  with  a  choice  band  of  heroes,  ^neas 
landed  in  Italy,  was  betrothed  to  Lavinia,  only  child  of 
old  King  Latinus,  slew  his  rival  Turnus  in  battle,  and  so 
came  to  found  a  second  Troy  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber. 

And  what  was  the  end  of  Paris,  that  winsome  deceiver 

that  had  brought  so  much  misery  on  his  kin  and  country.? 

Ere  this  last  slaughter,  he  had  been  wounded  by  one  of 

the  fatal  arrows  of  Hercules.     While  Helen  made  ready 
CC288)  11 


282  THE   TALE   OF   TROY 

to  throw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Menelaus,  praying  for 
pardon  which  was  not  denied,  her  ravisher,  sick  at  heart 
and  tormented  by  pain,  had  crept  away  to  Mount  Ida, 
seeking  out  his  long-deserted  wife  CEnone.  Her  he 
entreated  to  forget  the  wrong  he  had  done  her,  and  to 
heal  him  of  his  mortal  hurt  by  herbs  of  which  she  knew 
the  secret.  And  some  say  that  she  did  forgive  him,  after 
all,  and  that  their  old  love  rekindled  in  the  forest  soli- 
tudes. But  others  tell  how  she  bitterly  repulsed  the 
man  who  had  wronged  her  a  score  of  years  gone:  "Go 
back  to  thine  adulteress  and  die!"  He  turned  away 
miserably  to  die  in  the  dark  woods;  and  there  his  body 
was  found  by  those  herdsmen  that  had  been  foster- 
brethren  of  his  happier  childhood. 

"  One  raised  the  Prince,  one  sleek'd  the  squalid  hair, 
One  kissed  his  hand,  another  closed  his  eyes; 
And  then,  remembering  the  gay  playmate  rear'd 
Among  them,  and  forgetful  of  the  man, 
Whose  crime  had  half-unpeopled  Ilion,  these 
All  that  day  long  labour'd,  hewing  the  pines. 
And  built  their  shepherd-prince  a  funeral  pile; 
And,  while  the  star  of  eve  was  drawing  light 
From  the  dead  sun,  kindled  the  pyre,  and  all 
Stood  round  it,  hush'd,  or  calling  on  his  name." 

— Tennyson. 

As  the  flames  sank  and  paled  in  the  dawn,  who  but 
CEnone  came  wandering  that  way,  already  half-repentant 
of  her  heart's  bitterness.  She  asked  the  shepherds  whose 
ashes  were  here  burning;  and  when  they  spoke  her  hus- 
band's name,  with  a  cry  she  leapt  upon  his  funeral  pyre 
and  perished  in  the  same  flames.  But  Helen  went  back 
unhurt  to  Sparta,  she  who  had  brought  destruction  for 
her  dowry  to  Troy. 


THE    HOUSE    OF   AGAMEMNON 

I.   Clytemnestra 

Troy  had  fallen;  and  the  princes  of  Greece  could 
sail  away,  each  with  his  share  of  its  spoils  borne  by  a 
train  of  woeful  captives.  But  many  of  those  heroes  had 
no  joyful  home-coming  after  so  long  toils  and  perils. 
Even  before  leaving  Asia  they  fell  out  among  them- 
selves; and  when  they  launched  forth  for  Greece,  it  was 
to  steer  different  courses  among  the  Mge^n  isles.  Some 
were  wrecked  or  driven  astray  by  a  storm  on  the  way, 
for  Poseidon,  who  had  aided  them  against  his  foes, 
was  ever  fickle  of  favour.  Some  came  back  to  find 
themselves  forgotten,  or  supplanted,  and  to  fall  into 
unnatural  strife.  Some  never  reached  home,  but  were 
fain  to  abide  upon  distant  shores  among  barbarous 
folk.  And  darkest  of  all  was  the  fate  of  Agamemnon, 
king  of  men,  whose  glory  had  paled  on  the  field  beside 
the  prowess  of  outshining  heroes.  Better  were  it  for 
him  that  he  had  perished  before  Troy,  like  Achilles  and 
Hector ! 

"  Stabbed  by  a  murderous  hand,  Atrides  died, 
A  foul  adulterer  and  a  faithless  bride." 

Never  had  Clytemnestra  forgiven  her  husband  for 
consenting  to  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia.  Sister  of  Helen 
as  she  was,  she  too  played  false  to  the  brother  of  Mene- 
iaus,  and  in  the  long  absence  of  Agamemnon  she  took 


284        THE    HOUSE   OF   AGAMEMNON 

for  her  paramour  ^gisthus,  his  kinsman  unkind,  who 
had  meanly  stayed  back  from  the  war.  There  was  an- 
cestral hatred  between  these  two.  Their  fathers,  Atreus 
and  Thyestes,  were  brothers,  yet  did  one  another  wrong 
to  leave  a  legacy  of  revenge  among  their  children, 
-^gisthus  had  murdered  his  uncle ;  and  now  he  usurped 
his  cousin's  wife  and  kingdom,  giving  out  among  the 
people  that  Agamemnon  was  dead. 

But  well  the  guilty  pair  knew  it  was  not  so,  and  in 
fear  they  looked  for  the  day  when  the  king  should  come 
back  to  his  own.  They  had  laid  a  train  of  beacons  that, 
blazing  from  rocky  isle  to  isle,  and  from  wave-washed 
cape  to  cape,  should  bear  to  Mycenae  the  news  that  Troy 
was  at  last  taken.  There  came  the  night  when  an  exult- 
ing watchman  roused  them  to  see  those  signals  flashing 
across  the  sea — a  cheerful  sight  to  other  Greeks,  but 
a  boding  message  for  ^gisthus  and  Clytemnestra,  who 
must  now  face  the  husband  so  long  deceived,  so  terrible 
in  his  wrath. 

Agamemnon's  approach  was  announced:  the  joyful 
people  poured  out,  hailing  their  triumphant  king ;  and 
foremost  came  Clytemnestra  to  greet  her  lord  with  feigned 
gladness  and  treacherous  smiles.  While  he  threw  him- 
self prostrate,  first  of  all  to  kiss  his  native  earth,  she 
looked  askance  at  the  captive  woman  by  his  side,  who 
was  indeed  Priam's  daughter  Cassandra,  bowed  down  by 
the  burden  of  slavery,  and  speechless  among  these  men 
of  strange  tongue.  The  queen  spoke  falsely  of  forlorn 
distress  in  her  husband's  long  tarrying  afar  from  home, 
often  slain  by  rumour,  always  exposed  to  wounds.  Now 
she  welcomed  him  back,  as  should  be  a  hero's  meed,  and 
bid  him  enter  his  halls,  in  which  was  preparing  a  feast 
to  mark  this  happy  day. 

Thanking  the  gods  for  safe  return,  Agamemnon  crossed 


CLYTEMNESTRA 

From  the  painting  by  Hon.  John  Collier  in  the  Guildhall,  London 


CLYTEMNESTRA  285 

a  crimson  carpet  spread  upon  his  threshold.  One  warning 
cry  was  raised  by  Cassandra,  whose  prophetic  eye  saw 
that  bright  web  dyed  with  blood.  No  one  heeded  the 
muttering  captive,  taken  to  be  crazy  for  grief;  but  she 
shrank  back,  refusing  to  enter  the  house,  through  whose 
walls  pierced  her  gifted  sighto  And  soon  her  voice  was 
echoed  by  a  dreadful  sound  from  within. 

Agamemnon  had  asked  for  a  bath  to  refresh  himself 
before  the  banquet ;  and  his  wife  showed  herself  busy  to 
serve  him.  But  the  traitress  threw  a  mantle  of  web-work 
round  his  head,  and  quickly  twisted  it  about  his  sturdy 
limbs  ere  he  could  see  who  lurked  behind  the  door. 
Standing  thus  hooded  and  caught  as  in  a  net,  out  upon 
him  sprang  ^gisthus  with  an  axe,  to  fell  that  lordly  man 
like  a  steer,  so  that  he  sank  into  the  silver  bath  filled  with 
his  own  blood.  Thus  unworthily  died  the  conqueror  of 
Troy,  lamented  loudest  by  the  stranger  Cassandra,  till 
she,  too,  perished  by  the  queen's  jealous  hatred. 

The  people  of  Mycenae  hardly  dared  to  speak  their 
minds,  when  they  knew  the  great  king  murdered  by  a 
tyrant  whose  guards  held  them  in  dread ;  or  he  bribed 
the  elders  to  silence  from  the  rich  booty  brought  back 
from  Troy,  j^gisthus  and  Clytemnestra  boldly  avowed 
their  deed,  which  they  put  on  the  score  of  the  crime, of 
Atreus  against  Thyestes.  They  openly  proclaimed  their 
marriage,  and  iEgisthus  took  the  kingdom  for  his  own, 
making  nought  of  secret  curses  as  of  the  rightful  heir- 
ship. Agamemnon  had  left  a  son,  the  boy  Orestes,  still 
too  young  to  stand  up  for  himself.  All  he  and  his  sister 
Electra  could  do  was  to  weep  in  secret  at  a  tomb  raised 
by  the  hypocritical  hands  of  that  mother  and  stepsire 
before  whom  these  children  had  to  hide  their  heartfelt 
horror. 

For  them  Clytemnestra  had  no  such  love  as  for  the 


286        THE   HOUSE   OF  AGAMEMNON 

vanished  Iphigenia,  her  eldest  born.  Slighted  and  sus 
pected  in  their  father's  house,  they  were  as  stepchildren 
to  their  own  mother.  Electra,  wise  beyond  her  years, 
kept  her  lips  shut,  but  her  eyes  and  ears  open,  so  that 
she  came  to  learn  how  iEgisthus  had  in  mind  to  kill  her 
brother  before  he  should  grow  old  enough  to  avenge  their 
unforgotten  father. 

The  loving  sister  saw  but  one  way  to  save  the  boy, 
already  past  his  twelfth  year.  She  charged  a  faithful  old 
servant  of  Agamemnon  with  carrying  off  Orestes  by 
stealth.  They  fled  from  Mycenae;  and  the  young  prince 
found  welcome  and  refuge  with  Strophius,  king  of  Phocis, 
akin  to  his  father  by  marriage,  out  of  pity,  too,  willing  to 
protect  him  against  iEgisthus.  Electra  was  left  alone  to 
watch  over  the  hero's  tomb,  living  in  her  mother's  family 
as  a  slave-girl  rather  than  a  daughter,  for  the  stepfather 
would  not  have  her  find  a  noble  husband,  who  also  might 
take  on  him  the  inheritance  of  hate. 

Strophius  had  a  son  named  Pylades,  of  the  same  age 
as  Orestes.  These  two  grew  up  together,  sharing  their 
sports  and  tasks,  and  coming  to  love  one  another  like 
true  brethren — nay,  better,  for  they  cared  not  to  be  apart, 
even  for  an  hour;  and,  with  the  keenest  rivalry  to  excel, 
they  kept  side  by  side  in  every  exercise  of  virtuous  youth, 
both  surpassing  all  their  companions,  while  neither  could 
nor  would  outstrip  the  brother  of  his  heart.  So  devoted 
were  they  to  each  other,  through  good  and  ill,  that  the 
friendship  of  Pylades  and  Orestes  passed  into  a  proverb 
for  Greece,  as  in  Sicily  that  of  Damon  and  Pythias. 


ORESTES  287 


II.  Orestes 

The  murderer  of  Agamemnon  might  well  fear  Orestes, 
whose  mind  was  set  on  avenging  his  father,  as  seemed  the 
duty  of  a  pious  son.  He  had  no  secrets  from  Pylades, 
and  all  their  desires  were  as  one,  so  in  this  undertaking 
the  friends  swore  to  stand  by  each  other  for  life  and 
death.  No  sooner  had  they  reached  manhood  than  they 
set  out  together  on  the  deadly  errand,  first  seeking  the 
oracle  at  Delphi,  that  not  only  encouraged  their  purpose 
but  counselled  artful  means  for  carrying  it  out. 

To  Mycenae,  then,  they  went  in  disguise,  bearing  an 
urn  they  were  to  give  out  as  filled  with  the  ashes  of 
Orestes,  that  ^gisthus  might  believe  himself  safe  from 
his  blood-foe.  They  spent  the  night  in  pious  rites  at  the 
tomb  of  Agamemnon ;  and  there  in  the  dawn  they  met 
Electra  coming  out  to  keep  fresh  her  father's  memory, 
cherished  by  her  alone  in  the  house  where  another  had 
taken  his  seat.  Years  having  gone  by  since  they  parted, 
the  brother  and  sister  did  not  know  each  other,  so  when 
these  strangers  declared  themselves  to  be  from  Phocis, 
she  eagerly  asked  for  news  of  Orestes. 

"  Alas !  he  is  no  more,'*  answered  the  unknown 
brother,  little  thinking  how  he  wrung  her  heart;  and 
he  went  on  to  tell  a  feigned  tale:  how  Orestes  had  been 
dragged  to  death  through  an  accident  in  a  chariot  race, 
and  how  they  came  charged  to  lay  his  ashes  beside  his 
father's.  But  over  the  urn  said  to  contain  all  that  was 
left  of  him,  Electra  broke  into  such  a  passion  of  grief 
that  now  he  knew  his  sister,  and  had  not  the  heart  to 
keep  her  deceived.  He  dried  her  tears  by  declaring  him- 
self  to  be  no  other  than  Orestes,  in  proof  of  which  he 
showed  Agamemnon's  ring  she  herself  had  placed  on  his 


288        THE   HOUSE   OF  AGAMEMNON 

finger  to  keep  him  in  mind  of  his  filial  charge.  With 
his  bosom  friend  Pylades  to  aid  him,  and  by  the  counsel 
of  Apollo,  he  was  here  to  slay  the  slayers. 

Boldly  they  went  up  to  the  palace,  and  kindly  were 
they  received  by  -^gisthus  when  he  heard  their  story  of 
the  feigned  death  of  Orestes,  the  man  he  had  such  cause 
to  dread.  No  welcome  could  be  too  warm  for  the  bearers 
of  that  urn.  The  guests,  unarmed  but  for  hidden  daggers, 
sat  down  to  eat  with  the  king  and  queen,  while  Electra 
made  some  excuse  for  sending  away  the  servants.  As  soon 
as  they  were  alone  together,  these  strangers  started  to 
their  feet,  Pylades  seizing  ^gisthus,  Orestes  his  mother; 
and  out  flashed  the  daggers. 

"Remember  Agamemnon!  I  am  his  son  and  thine. 
The  hour  of  vengeance  is  come!" 

These  were  the  last  words  Clytemnestra  heard  as  she 
fell  by  her  son's  hand  beside  the  body  of  the  usurper. 
The  servants,  rushing  in  at  the  noise,  made  no  stir  to 
defend  their  hated  master,  nor  were  the  citizens  loath  to 
be  rid  of  a  tyrant ;  and  for  the  moment  it  appeared  as  if 
Orestes  might  now  take  his  father's  place  unchallenged. 

But  soon  grey  heads  were  shaken  over  such  a  deed: 
however  guilty,  a  mother's  blood  shed  by  her  son  mus/^ 
surely  bring  a  curse  on  the  city.  And  when  the  first 
flush  of  his  exultation  had  passed  oflf,  Orestes  himself 
began  to  be  moved  by  remorse.  A  malignant  fate  it 
was  that  had  laid  on  him  a  duty  so  dreadful.  At  his 
mother's  grave,  horror  came  upon  him,  so  that  by  turns 
he  raved  madly  with  wild  words  and  glaring  eyes,  or  lay 
speechless  like  a  dead  man,  tended  by  Electra;  but  neither 
she  nor  Pylades  could  bring  him  back  to  his  right  mind. 
No  other  Greek  would  sit  with  him  at  meat,  or  even  sleep 
under  the  same  roof.  Some  elders  of  the  people  were 
for  stoning  him  to  death^  that  thus  might  be  averted  the 


ORESTES  289 

anger  ot'  the  gods.  But  the  most  part  voted  for  banish- 
ment ;  and  so  was  Orestes  driven  forth  from  the  city, 
accompanied  by  his  faithful  friend  and  his  sister. 

Bitterly  now  he  reproached  the  god  that  had  spurred 
him  on  to  a  crime  in  guise  of  a  pious  office.  Thereon 
Apollo  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  bidding  him  go  into 
the  wilds  of  Arcadia,  and  there  dree  his  weird  for  a  year 
till  he  should  be  called  before  a  council  of  the  gods,  that 
might  purge  him  from  the  stain  of  his  mother's  blood. 
Meanwhile,  abhorred  by  gods  and  men,  with  every  door 
shut  against  him,  he  was  given  over  to  the  Furies,  to 
be  hunted  like  a  beast  by  bloodhounds  of  hell.  Even 
Strophius,  the  father  of  Pylades,  turned  his  face  from  his 
son,  as  sharer  in  the  guilt  of  Orestes ;  but  the  youth 
willingly  bore  banishment  rather  than  leave  his  friend. 
Electra  became  his  wife;  and  they  went  with  her  brother 
into  a  savage  wilderness. 

For  a  year  Orestes  wandered,  mad  and  miserable, 
among  desert  mountains,  everywhere  followed  by  the 
sister  Eumenides,  tormenting  him  with  their  scourges 
and  torches,  and  haunting  his  restless  nights  in  visions 
of  dread,  till  he  was  ready  to  kill  himself  but  for  the 
loving  care  of  Pylades  and  Electra.  When  his  punish- 
ment seemed  greater  than  he  could  bear,  once  more  he 
sought  the  shrine  of  Apollo,  and  had  laid  upon  him  a 
heavy  task  to  fulfil  in  expiation  of  his  sin.  He  must 
sail  to  Tauris  in  the  Scythian  Chersonese,  and  from  its 
temple  carry  off  the  image  of  Artemis,  so  jealously 
guarded  by  a  rude  people  and  a  cruel  king,  that  even 
to  set  foot  on  their  land  was  death  for  a  stranger. 

Such  an  errand  was  given  in  answer  to  the  frenzied 
prayer  of  Orestes — 

"  O  king  Apollo!  God  Apollo!  God 
Powerful  to  smite  and  powerful  to  preserve! 

(0288)  lla 


290       THE   HOUSE   OF  AGAMEMNON 

If  there  is  blood  upon  me,  as  there  seems, 

Purify  that  black  stain  (thou  only  canst) 

With  every  rill  that  bubbles  from  these  caves 

Audibly;  and  come  willing  to  the  work. 

No;  'tis  not  they;  'tis  blood;  'tis  blood  again 

That  bubbles  in  my  ear,  that  shakes  the  shades 

Of  thy  dark  groves,  and  lets  in  hateful  gleams, 

Bringing  me  .  .  .  what  dread  sight!  what  sounds  abhorr'd! 

What  screams!     They  are  my  mother's:  'tis  her  eye 

That  through  the  snakes  of  those  three  furies  glares, 

And  makes  them  hold  their  peace  that  she  may  speak. 

Has  thy  voice  bidden  them  all  forth?     There  slink 

Some  that  would  hide  away,  but  must  turn  back, 

And  others  like  blue  lightnings  bound  along 

From  rock  to  rock;  and  many  hiss  at  me 

As  they  draw  nearer.     Earth,  fire,  water,  all 

Abominate  the  deed  the  Gods  commanded! 

Alas!  I  come  to  pray,  not  to  complain; 

And  lo!  my  speech  is  impious  as  my  deed!" 

—W.  S.  Landor. 

Agamemnon's  son  asked  no  better  than  thus  to  risk 
his  ruined  life ;  and  Pylades  was  eager  to  share  with  him 
that  perilous  adventure.  In  a  galley  manned  by  fifty 
men,  they  set  out  for  the  cloudy  shores  of  the  Euxine 
Sea,  whose  very  name  made  a  word  of  ill  omen.^ 


III.  Iphigenia 

Orestes  knew  not  how  the  priestess  of  that  Taurian 
shrine  was  no  other  than  his  eldest  sister  Iphigenia, 
carried  away  in  his  infancy  from  Aulis,  where  the  Greeks 
would    have    sacrificed    her    to    buy  a    fair  wind.     And 

*  The  Pontui  Euxinus  (hospitable)  seems  to  have  originally  had  the  more  fitting 
name  of  "Inhospitable"  ("Afet'os),  changed  by  some  such  superstitious  euphemism  as 
styled  the  Furies  Eumenides  to  avert  their  anger.  The  Scythian  Chersonese  (peninsula) 
was  the  Crimea,  and  Tauris  appears  to  be  represented  by  Balaclava,  that  has  had  its 
hecatomb  of  victims  in  modern  days. 


IPHIGENIA  29  T 

Iphlgenia,  long  exiled  to  serve  Artemis  among  barbarous 
folk,  had  heard  nought  of  her  kin  and  country  through 
a  score  of  dark  years.  No  word  came  to  that  remote 
land  of  the  fall  of  Troy,  of  the  death  of  Agamemnon, 
of  his  son's  vengeance.  Often  she  longed  for  news  from 
her  old  home,  even  to  hear  its  once-familiar  speech ; 
and  though  held  in  honour,  even  reverence,  by  Thoas, 
king  of  Tauris,  and  his  people,  she  would  have  wel- 
comed any  ship  that  might  carry  her  back  to  Greece. 
But  no  Greek  came  to  their  stormy  shores,  unless  by 
luckless  shipwreck,  for  well  was  known  the  cruel  custom 
of  this  people  to  sacrifice  strangers  in  the  temple  of  their 
goddess. 

One  day  as  its  sad  priestess  stood  gazing  across  the 
gloomy  waves  that  made  her  prison,  with  secret  horror 
was  she  brought  face  to  face  with  victims  for  the  shrine. 
A  band  of  herdsmen  exultingly  dragged  before  her  two 
youths  they  had  caught  lurking  about  the  temple,  of 
foreign  speech  and  dress,  and  giving  themselves  out 
for  castaway  mariners.  Her  heart  thrilled  within  her 
when  at  their  first  words  she  knew  them  for  country- 
men. 

"  Unhappy  ones,  I  cannot  welcome  ye ! "  she  cried 
in  the  same  speech.  "  Know  ye  not  the  law  of  Tauris, 
that  every  stranger  treading  its  soil  shall  be  sacrificed  to 
Artemis,  and  alas  !  by  my  hands  .?" 

"  How  can  a  people  that  honours  the  gods  have  such 
barbarous  laws  ! "  exclaimed  one  of  the  captives  ;  but  his 
companion  stood  silent,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
or  stared  wildly  around  him  as  if  aware  of  invisible 
foes.  "  We  are  cast  on  this  shore  by  misfortune ;  we 
claim  pity,  shelter,  aid  from  pious  men." 

"  Ye  must  die,"  spoke  the  priestess ;  and  the  wolfish 
eyes  of  the  Taurians  spoke  for  them.     "  Would,  indeed, 


292        THE   HOUSE   OF   AGAMEMNON 

that  ye  spake  another  tongue !  Your  names  and  birth- 
place?" 

"  My  name  Is  Misery,"  sighed  the  one,  and  said  no 
more ;  while  the  other  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  praying 
for  mercy,  like  a  man  to  whom  life  was  dear. 

"This  much  stands  in  my  power,"  answered  the 
priestess.  "The  king  will  consent  to  release  one  victim 
at  my  entreaty,  but  the  blood  of  one  is  demanded  as 
offering  to  the  goddess.  Which  of  you  shall  go  back 
to  Greece  to  tell  the  fate  of  his  comrade  .f*" 

"Let  me  die,  who  care  not  to  live,"  murmured  the 
downcast  captive. 

"  Nay,"  cried  the  other  eagerly,  "  send  my  friend 
home,  for  I  have  sworn  never  to  abandon  him." 

"  He  is  worthy  to  live,  as  so  am  not  I!" 

"  Hear  him  not !  He  is  the  last  of  a  great  race ; 
and  you  know  not  what  a  stock  must  perish  in  his 
death." 

"To  me,  then,  death  is  lighter  by  far.  None  will 
weep  for  me ;  but  this  man  has  a  new-married  wife,  and 
parents  living  to  mourn  his  loss.  Spare  their  grey  hairs 
and  the  helplessness  of  his  unborn  son!" 

"Strange  pair,  who  are  ye.?"  asked  Iphigenia,  moved 
by  the  warmth  with  which  these  two  friends  seemed  to 
court  death,  each  for  the  other's  sake. 

"  I  am  Orestes,  son  of  Agamemnon,  hateful  to  gods 
and  men  since  these  hands  shed  my  mother's  blood." 

"  I  am  Pylades,  who  aided  his  friend  thus  to  avenge 
the  great  Agamemnon." 

A  cry  rose  to  the  lips  of  the  priestess,  as  she  heard 
that  it  was  her  brother  who  stood  before  her,  praying 
for  death  rather  than  life.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to 
hold  herself  back  from  falling  into  his  arms  under  the 
eyes  of  the  Taurians,  who  stood  by  in  watchful  suspicion 


IPHIGENIA  293 

for  this  talk  in  an  unknown  tongue.  Hastily  she  ques- 
tioned Pylades,  and  from  him  was  amazed  to  learn  how 
Agamemnon  died,  and  how  Clytemnestra,  and  what 
penance  had  been  laid  on  Orestes,  soul-sick  to  madness 
for  such  a  crime. 

Could  she  bear  to  see  slain,  to  slay  with  her  own 
hand,  the  brother  she  had  nursed  as  an  infant,  or  the 
friend  so  devoted  to  him  in  his  evil  plight.'^  In  her 
heart  she  planned  to  save  both  those  generous  youths ; 
but  before  her  barbarian  acolytes,  thirsting  for  their 
blood,  she  would  not  trust  herself  to  let  Orestes  know 
who  she  was.  Dissembling  her  inward  feelings  for  the 
time,  she  haughtily  ordered  the  captives  to  be  led  to 
prison  in  bonds. 

There  they  lay  lamentably,  looking  for  nothing  but 
death  together,  each  blaming  himself  for  having  betrayed 
the  other  by  some  avowal  that  had  changed  the  merciful 
mood  of  that  priestess.  But  at  the  dead  of  night  their 
dungeon  door  was  opened,  and  in  stole  Iphigenia,  no 
longer  with  stern  voice  and  threatening  mien.  Alone 
beside  the  Greeks,  she  told  them  her  name  and  birth ; 
and  now  in  turn  Orestes  had  the  amazement  to  hear  that 
his  sister  still  lived,  while  she  for  the  first  time  learned 
all  the  woes  that  had  fallen  on  her  father's  home. 

But  they  had  to  think  of  present  danger  rather  than 
of  that  troubled  past.  The  Taurians  were  clamouring 
for  the  sacrifice  of  the  prisoners  ;  and  Iphigenia  told  with 
a  shudder  how  it  was  her  duty  to  officiate  at  this  cruel 
rite,  most  hateful  even  were  the  victims  not  of  kindred 
blood  and  speech.  When  she  heard  that  they  had  a 
stout  and  well-manned  galley  waiting  for  them  on  the 
shore,  her  ready  wit  devised  a  way  of  escape.  She  went 
to  the  king  with  horrified  looks :  these  captives,  she  de- 
clared, were  outcasts  so  deeply  stained  in  guilt  that  they 


294       THE   HOUSE   OF   AGAMEMNON 

would  bring  pollution  to  the  temple  of  her  chaste  god- 
dess. Before  they  could  be  rendered  an  acceptable  offer- 
ing, she  must  purify  them  with  sea  water  that  washes 
away  all  offence  of  man  ;  and  the  image  of  Artemis,  too, 
must  be  cleansed  from  the  taint  brought  upon  it  by  the 
very  sight  of  such  malefactors. 

The  unsuspicious  king  let  it  be  so,  for  he  had  come 
to  look  up  to  the  foreign  priestess  as  an  oracle.  While 
he  and  his  chiefs  stayed  at  the  temple,  making  ready  for 
that  sacrifice,  Iphigenia  went  down  to  the  shore  alone, 
bearing  the  sacred  image,  and  leading  the  two  prisoners 
by  a  cord  that  bound  them  fast  together.  Then  soon 
from  the  cliffs  above  rang  out  a  cry  of  alarm,  when  a 
strange  ship  was  seen  making  out  to  sea,  carrying  off 
victims,  priestess,  and  image. 

Men  ran  to  tell  Thoas,  who  wrathfully  bid  launch 
his  swiftest  galleys  in  pursuit,  and  from  the  cliffs  would 
have  hurled  stones  and  darts  on  the  fugitives,  tugging 
hard  at  their  oars,  against  the  wind  and  tide  that  washed 
them  back  towards  the  shore.  But  lo !  a  dazzling  light 
blinded  the  king's  eyes,  and  from  high  overhead  pealed 
out  the  voice  of  Pallas-Athene. 

"  Thoas,  it  is  the  will  of  heaven  that  these  strangers 
shall  go  free ;  for  my  sister  Artemis  can  no  longer  dwell 
among  a  barbarous  people  that  honour  her  with  human 
bloodshed !  When  ye  have  learned  to  think  more  nobly 
of  the  gods,  she  will  return.  Till  then  a  new  shrine  is 
provided  for  her  and  her  priestess  in  my  own  chosen 
seat,  that  famed  city  of  the  violet  crown." 

The  Taurians  heard  with  trembling,  and  now  did 
not  dare  to  stay  the  Grecian  ship.  So  Iphigenia  brought 
the  image  to  Athens,  to  be  there  worshipped  more 
worthily.  And  there,  when  his  year's  penance  was  up, 
the  Areopagus  was  appointed  as  her  brother's  place  of 


IPHIGENIA  29^ 

judgment,  to  which  he  came  still  led  by  the  Furies, 
those  stern  ministers  of  Nemesis. 

In  the  temple  of  Pallas  was  the  court  held,  a  solemn 
array  of  gods  sitting  in  the  likeness  of  old  men.  On 
his  knees  at  the  altar,  as  beseemed  a  suppliant,  Orestes 
told  his  story  without  deceit,  making  his  plea  for  mercy 
on  the  score  of  a  father's  death  set  against  a  mother's. 
The  votes  were  taken  by  white  and  black  stones  cast 
into  an  urn.  When  they  came  to  be  counted,  white  and 
black,  for  pardon  or  punishment,  were  equal  in  number. 
Orestes  covered  his  eyes,  and  the  Furies  made  ready  to 
throw  themselves  on  their  victim. 

"  Stay ! ''  cried  Pallas,  appearing  in  her  own  form. 
"My  vote  is  still  to  come." 

She  cast  a  white  stone  into  the  urn ;  and  beneath  her 
aegis  held  above  his  head  Orestes  rose  a  free  man,  while 
the  angry  Furies  sank  howling  into  the  earth. 

Thus  absolved,  the  avenger  of  Agamemnon  went 
home  to  Argos,  where  now  the  people  welcomed  him 
to  his  father's  kingdom.  They  say  that  he  married 
Hermione,  the  daughter  of  Menelaus  and  Helen,  after 
winning  her  in  mortal  combat  from  the  son  of  Achilles, 
to  whom  she  had  been  betrothed.  And  so  these  two 
fought  out  the  quarrel  of  their  sires,  a  generation  after 
so  much  blood  began  to  flow  for  that  false  queen's  fatal 
beauty. 


THE   ADVENTURES    OF  ODYSSEUS 

I.   His  Perilous  Voyage  Homewards 

A  much-tried  hero  was  he  who  had  left  his  island 
home  so  unwillingly  for  the  ten  years'  war,  then,  after 
Troy  had  fallen,  was  ten  years  on  a  wandering  way  back. 
All  those  years  his  faithful  wife  Penelope  waited  patiently 
for  news  of  him,  while  their  son  Telemachus  grew  up 
to  hopeful  manhood  without  having  known  his  father. 
Meantime,  persecuted  by  Poseidon  but  protected  by  the 
care  of  Pallas,  Odysseus  went  from  one  misadventure  to 
another,  brought  about  now  by  adverse  fortune,  now  by 
his  own  fault,  again  by  the  folly  of  his  men,  who  perished 
here  and  there  miserably;  but  on  their  captain  the  gods 
took  pity,  and  at  last  let  him  reach  Ithaca,  where  he 
found  his  house  given  up  to  greedy  neighbours,  wasting 
his  substance  and  persecuting  his  wife  to  choose  one  of 
them  in  place  of  the  husband  taken  for  dead. 

"  The  fate  of  every  chief  beside 

Who  fought  at  Troy  is  known: 
It  is  the  will  of  Jove  to  hide 
His  untold  death  alone. 

"And  how  he  fell  can  no  man  tell; 
We  know  not  was  he  slain 
In  fight  on  land  by  hostile  hand, 
Or  plunged  beneath  the  main." 

— Martin's  Homeric  Ballads. 

When   he  set  sail  homewards  with  a  small  fleet  of 


HIS  PERILOUS  VOYAGE  HOMEWARDS   297 

ships,  at  the  very  outset  Odysseus  and  his  company  ran 
into  mishap.  Not  content  with  the  glory  and  the  spoils 
they  had  won  at  Troy,  they  must  needs  land  on  the  coast 
of  the  fierce  Cicons,  whose  town  they  plundered  and 
held  a  feast  on  the  booty.  Their  prudent  leader  was 
for  making  off  at  once;  but  his  careless  crews  sat  gorging 
and  swilling,  till  the  Cicons  came  back  upon  them 
with  a  fresh  force  of  warriors  from  the  inland  parts  of 
their  country.  The  carousing  Greeks  had  to  stand  to 
arms  for  a  battle  that  lasted  all  day,  then  at  evening 
were  fain  to  escape  on  board  their  ships,  with  the  loss  of 
several  men  from  each  crew. 

Putting  out  to  sea,  they  must  next  contend  with  winds 
and  waves,  more  ruthless  enemies  than  men.  They  had 
nothing  for  it  but  to  run  before  a  storm  that  drove  them 
out  of  their  course  and  tore  their  sails  to  tatters.  On  the 
tenth  day  they  made  an  unknown  land,  where,  going  on 
shore  for  fresh  water,  Odysseus  sent  three  scouts  to  spy 
out  the  people  of  the  country.  These  were  the  Lotos- 
eaters,  living  on  a  plant  named  lotos,  which  so  dazed 
their  senses  that  they  cared  for  nothing  but  dreamy  idle- 
ness, in  the  languid  air  of  that  land,  "where  all  things 
always  seemed  the  same",  and  no  stranger  had  the  heart 
to  move  away  from  it  who  had  once  tasted  its  flowery 
food,  freely  offered  by  those  "mild-eyed  melancholy 
Lotos-eaters  ". 

"  Branches  they  bore  of  that  enchanted  stem, 
Laden  with  flower  and  fruit,  whereof  they  gave 
To  each,  but  whoso  did  receive  of  them. 
And  taste,  to  him  the  gushing  of  the  wave 
Far,  far  away  did  seem  to  mourn  and  rave 
On  alien  shores;  and  if  his  fellow  spake. 
His  voice  was  thin,  as  voices  from  the  grave; 
And  deep-asleep  he  seem'd,  yet  all  awake, 
And  music  in  his  ears  his  beating  heart  did  make. 


298     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

"  They  sat  them  down  upon  the  yellow  sand, 
Between  the  sun  and  moon  upon  the  shore; 
And  sweet  it  was  to  dream  of  Father-land, 
Of  child,  and  wife,  and  slave;  but  evermore 
Most  weary  seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar. 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam. 
Then  some  one  said,  *  We  will  return  no  more'; 
And  all  at  once  they  sang,  *  Our  island  home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave;  we  will  no  longer  roam  '." 

— Tennyson. 

The  messengers  sent  forward  had  alone  tasted  of  that 
entrancing  food.  But  when  Odysseus  saw  what  a  spell 
it  worked  on  these  men,  he  had  them  dragged  away  by 
force  and  tied  fast  on  the  benches  of  the  ships,  while  the 
rest  of  the  crews  he  hurried  on  board  before  they  should 
fall  under  the  same  charm,  to  be  bound  for  ever  to  a 
life  of  inglorious  ease. 

Toiling  at  their  oars,  they  left  the  Lotos  land  behind, 
and  crossed  the  sea  to  fall  upon  perils  of  another  sort  on 
a  rugged  shore  overhung  by  the  smoke  of  fiery  mountain 
tops.  Here  dwelt  the  Cyclopes,  a  race  of  hideous  and 
barbarous  giants  that  neither  planted  nor  ploughed,  but 
lived  on  their  half-tamed  flocks  and  on  herbs  that  grow 
wild ;  nor  did  they  hold  any  intercourse  with  other  peoples, 
having  no  use  of  sail  or  oar.  Even  in  form  they  were 
strangely  monstrous,  each  having  one  huge  eye  flaming 
across  his  forehead;  and  in  nature  they  were  cruelly  fear- 
some as  their  looks.  At  an  island  hard  by,  Odysseus 
left  his  ships  safely  beached,  all  but  one,  with  which  he 
himself  stood  across  to  the  rocky  coast  of  the  Cyclopes. 

As  he  was  coasting  along,  there  came  to  view  a  deep 
cave,  its  dark  mouth  overhung  by  shrubs,  above  a  yard 
walled  in  with  rough  stones  and  tree  trunks  as  a  fold 
for  sheep  and  goats.  Here  was  the  home  of  a  Cyclops 
named  Polyphemus,  so  inhuman  that  he  chose  to  live 


HIS  PERILOUS  VOYAGE  HOMEWARDS  299 

apart  even  from  his  fierce  fellows.  Drawn  ashore  by- 
curiosity,  the  bold  hero  had  a  mind  to  explore  this 
gloomy  haunt.  His  ship  left  hauled  up  on  the  beach 
to  await  his  return,  with  twelve  of  the  bravest  men 
picked  for  companions,  he  climbed  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cave,  carrying  some  food  in  a  wallet,  and  also  a  goat- 
skin full  of  rich  wine  which  he  had  brought  away  from 
Troy,  now  to  serve  him  better  than  he  knew. 

When  they  reached  the  cave,  they  found  it  full  of 
lambs  and  kids  penned  up  within,  along  with  piles  of 
cheeses  and  great  vessels  of  milk  and  curds.  The  giant 
being  out  on  the  hills  where  he  herded  his  flock,  these 
strangers  made  bold  to  feast  on  his  stores;  then  the  men 
were  for  making  off  before  he  came  back;  but  now  it 
was  their  leader's  turn  to  be  reckless,  and  he  waited  to 
see  the  owner  of  such  wealth,  in  hope  to  find  him  not 
less  generous  than  rich.  Bitterly  was  he  to  repent  of  his 
rashness. 

At  nightfall  Polyphemus  came  home,  shaking  the 
ground  under  his  tread,  and  flinging  down  a  crashing 
stack  of  firewood  from  his  broad  back  as  he  darkened 
the  mouth  of  the  cave.  The  very  sight  of  this  one-eyed 
monster  was  enough  to  scare  his  unbidden  guests  into 
its  deepest  recess.  When  he  had  driven  all  the  ewes  and 
she-goats  inside,  he  closed  the  entrance  with  a  rock  that 
would  make  a  load  for  a  score  of  wagons ;  then  before 
turning  in  the  mothers  to  their  young,  he  milked  them 
for  his  own  use,  setting  aside  part  of  the  milk  to  make 
cheese,  and  keeping  part  for  his  supper.  Last,  he  lit  a 
fire,  the  glare  of  which  soon  disclosed  those  trembling 
lookers-on. 

"Who  are  ye.?"  he  bellowed.  "Pirates,  or  traders, 
or  what.?" 

Odysseus  alone  had  heart  to  answer,  and  told  his  tale 


300    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

of  how  they  were  on  their  way  home  from  Troy,  appeal- 
ing for  hospitality  in  the  name  of  Zeus,  the  protector  of 
helpless  travellers.  Polyphemus,  laughing  scornfully  at 
the  notion  that  the  like  of  him  cared  for  gods  or  men, 
asked  where  their  ship  was  moored,  which  Odysseus,  cun- 
ning as  well  as  bold,  knew  better  than  to  tell,  but  would 
have  him  believe  that  they  had  been  wrecked  on  his  coast. 
Without  another  word,  the  greedy  giant  snatched  up  two 
of  the  men  at  random,  to  dash  them  on  the  ground 
and  devour  their  bleeding  carcasses,  washed  down  by 
mighty  gulps  of  milk,  after  which  he  stretched  himself 
out  to  sleep. 

But  there  could  be  no  sleep  for  his  luckless  prisoners, 
fearfully  aware  of  the  same  horrible  fate  awaiting  them  in 
turn.  Odysseus  thought  of  falling  on  the  heavy-headed 
monster  with  his  sword;  but  how  then  could  they  move 
the  stone  that  barred  the  entrance?  When  daylight  began 
to  peep  in,  the  giant  rolled  it  away  with  ease;  but  when 
he  had  driven  out  his  flocks,  he  carefully  put  it  back, 
shutting  up  those  captives  as  if  by  a  lid  clapped  to. 
And  the  first  thing  he  had  done  on  getting  up  was  to 
grab  two  more  of  them  for  his  breakfast. 

All  day  the  rest  lay  there  in  quaking  dread,  but  their 
artful  captain  was  scheming  out  a  plan  to  get  the  better 
of  that  cruel  host.  Within  the  cave  he  had  left  lying  a 
great  club  of  olive-wood,  big  enough  to  be  the  mast  of  a 
ship.  The  end  of  this  Odysseus  cut  off,  and  made  his 
men  sharpen  it  to  a  point  and  harden  it  in  the  fire ;  then 
he  hid  it  away  in  the  dirt  that  lay  thick  over  the  floor. 
Lots  were  cast  for  four  men  to  help  him  in  handling 
such  an  unwieldy  weapon ;  and  the  lot  fell  on  the  very 
four  he  would  have  wished  for  strong  and  stout-hearted 
comrades. 

Again   the   giant   came  back   at   evening;   agam  he 


HIS  PERILOUS  VOYAGE  HOMEWARDS  301 

milked  his  flock ;  and  again  he  caught  up  two  of  the 
sailors  to  make  a  cannibal  feast.  Then  Odysseus  brought 
to  him  a  bowl  of  dark-red  wine,  filled  from  his  goat- 
skin, humbly  offering  it  as  a  drink  fit  to  wash  down  the 
heartiest  supper.  Polyphemus  tasted,  smacked  his  lips, 
drank  down  every  drop,  and  asked  for  more,  promising 
the  giver  something  in  return  for  a  liquor  which,  he 
declared,  was  far  better  than  any  made  in  his  country. 

"What  is  thy  name.f^'*  he  cried,  as  three  times  the 
bowl  was  filled  for  him  and  emptied. 

"  My  name,"  quoth  the  sly  Odysseus,  "  is  Noman. 
What  gift  hast  thou  for  me  who  offer  thee  such  noble 
wine  ? " 

"  Be  this  thy  reward,  then ! "  hiccoughed  the  drunken 
giant.  "  I  will  eat  up  thy  fellows  first,  and  Noman  last 
of  all." 

With  that  he  rolled  over  on  the  ground,  stretching 
himself  out  to  snore  off  the  fumes  of  the  wine.  As  soon 
as  he  was  fast  asleep,  Odysseus  heated  in  the  fire  the 
sharp  stake  he  had  made  ready ;  then  with  four  men 
bearing  a  hand,  he  suddenly  drove  it  into  the  monster's 
eye,  turning  it  round  to  be  quenched  in  bubbling  and 
hissing  blood. 

The  blinded  Cyclops  got  to  his  feet  with  such  howls 
of  rage  and  pain  that  his  assailants  fled  out  of  reach, 
but  in  vain  now  he  groped  and  stumbled  about  to  catch 
them.  The  outcry  he  made  before  long  brought  up  his 
neighbour  giants  in  haste  to  the  entrance  of  his  cave, 
where  they  could  be  heard  tramping  and  shouting  through 
the  darkness. 

"W^hat  ails  thee,  Polyphemus,  to  disturb  us  with 
such  a  din  at  dead  of  night.''  Who  is  hurting  thee  in 
sleep.''     Who  is  driving  away  thy  flocks.''" 

"  Noman  is  robbing  me  1     Noman  is  attacking  me 


302     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

in  sleep ! "  bawled  the  furious  giant ;  then  his  neigh- 
bours stalked  away  with  surly  growls,  taking  it  that  he 
must  be  unwell,  and  might  be  left  to  his  prayers  for 
help. 

So  far,  so  good ;  but  for  the  plotters  crouching  at 
the  back  of  the  cave  now  came  the  question  how  they 
were  to  leave  it  safely.  Their  groaning  jailer,  indeed, 
pushed  away  the  stone,  but  he  sat  down  at  the  entrance, 
stretching  his  hands  across  it  to  catch  them  when  they 
should  try  to  slip  out,  for  he  thought  these  men  as 
stupid  as  himself.  But  Odysseus  had  another  trick  in 
his  bag.  With  osier  withs  he  tied  together  the  big 
rams  by  threes,  a  man  fastened  hidden  among  their 
fleecy  bodies.  The  biggest  and  woolliest  ram  he  took 
for  himself  to  cling  on  to,  face  upwards,  below  its  belly. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light,  the  rams  pressed  out  to 
their  pasture,  their  master  feeling  their  backs  as  they 
passed,  with  fearful  threats  against  that  scoundrel  Noman 
who  had  worked  him  such  a  mischief.  But  one  by  one 
the  prisoners  slipped  undetected  through  his  fumbling 
clutches ;  then,  once  got  well  outside,  Odysseus  untied 
his  comrades,  and,  driving  along  the  pick  of  the  flock, 
they  hastened  down  to  the  shore,  to  be  joyfully  received 
by  their  shipmates,  who  had  given  them  up  for  lost. 

Hurriedly  they  put  their  booty  on  board  and  were 
launching  from  the  beach,  when  Odysseus  in  his  exulta- 
tion raised  a  shout  that  brought  the  giant  out  on  the 
cliffs,  where  he  stood  like  some  tall  peak  reared  in  the 
smoky  air.  Tearing  up  a  mass  of  crag,  and  taking  aim 
at  the  voice,  he  blindly  hurled  it  so  close  to  the  ship 
as  almost  to  crush  her,  and  the  wash  of  it  would  have 
swirled  her  back  to  shore,  had  not  Odysseus  sheered 
off^  with  a  pole,  while  his  men  needed  no  bidding  to 
row  their  hardest.     As  they  pulled  away,  in  vain  they 


HIS  PERILOUS  VOYAGE  HOMEWARDS  30^ 

begged  him  to  be  silent ;  he  could  not  keep  in  the 
satisfaction  of  taunting  that  inhuman  monster  that  had 
murdered  his  comrades. 

"  Cyclops,  eater  of  men,  if  any  ask  who  put  out 
that  eye  of  thine,  to  make  thee  uglier  than  ever,  say  it 
was  done  by  no  less  a  hand  than  that  of  Odysseus  the 
Ithacan ! " 

At  that  Polyphemus  gave  a  dreadful  groan,  for  it 
had  been  prophesied  to  him  that  he  should  lose  his 
sight  at  the  hands  of  this  very  Odysseus  he  had  so 
little  suspected  in  the  castaway  guest.  There  he  stood 
as  long  as  they  could  hear  him,  breathing  after  them 
curses  that  were  not  lost  on  the  wind.  For  this  monster, 
barbarous  as  he  was,  had  no  less  a  father  than  Neptune, 
to  whom  he  now  prayed  for  calamity  and  destruction 
on  those  hateful  strangers ;  and  Poseidon  would  hear 
his  prayer.  But  the  last  stone  the  giant  threw,  largest 
of  all,  raised  a  swell  that  carried  them  out  of  his  reach; 
then  safely  they  reached  the  isle  where  the  other  ships 
lay  awaiting  their  return. 

Before  setting  sail,  Odysseus  feasted  his  men  on 
the  Cyclops'  fat  sheep ;  and  the  goodliest  of  all  he  sacri- 
ficed as  a  thankoffering  for  his  escape,  vainly  hoping  to 
propitiate  the  heavenly  powers  that  were  already  brewing 
mischief  against  him. 

"  So  till  the  sun  fell  we  did  drink  and  eat, 
And  all  night  long  beside  the  billows  lay, 
Till  blush'd  the  hills  'neath  morning's  rosy  feet; 
Then  did  I  bid  my  friends,  with  break  of  day. 
Loosen  the  hawsers,  and  each  bark  array; 
Who  take  the  benches,  and  the  whitening  main 
Cleave  with  the  sounding  oars,  and  sail  away. 
So  from  the  isle  we  part,  not  void  of  pain. 
Right  glad  of  our  own  lives,  but  grieving  for  the  slain.*' 

— J^orsley. 


304    THE  ADVENTURES  OF   ODYSSEUS 

The  next  land  they  made  was  the  floating  island  of 
-^olus,  king  of  the  Winds,  where  they  found  no  lack 
of  hospitable  entertainment,  ^olus  and  his  sons  were 
keen  to  hear  about  the  siege  of  Troy,  that  filled  all  the 
world  with  rumour,  so  they  kept  those  welcome  guests 
for  a  whole  month  of  eating,  drinking,  and  talking. 
When  at  length  Odysseus  grew  restless  to  continue  his 
voyage,  iEolus  did  him  a  rare  favour  by  tying  up  all 
the  winds  but  one  for  him  in  an  ox-hide  bag,  which 
he  might  carry  on  board.  Only  the  gentle  west  wind 
did  he  leave  free  to  waft  the  ships  straight  to  Ithaca. 

They  sailed  on,  then,  for  nine  days  on  a  smooth  sea, 
and  had  at  last  come  so  close  to  their  native  island  that 
already  they  could  see  fires  glowing  on  its  shore  as  if 
to  beacon  them  home.  All  that  time  Odysseus  had 
never  left  the  helm,  so  eager  was  he  to  greet  his  wife 
and  son ;  now  he  lay  down  to  rest,  believing  himself 
out  of  all  peril.  But  while  he  slept,  his  crew  put  their 
heads  together,  asking  one  another  what  treasure  could 
be  hid  in  that  bag  on  which  their  leader  kept  so  close 
an  eye.  Making  sure  it  must  be  full  of  gold  and  silver, 
they  opened  it  to  look,  then  out  flew  the  howling  winds 
that  in  a  trice  drove  them  back  from  their  haven,  tossed 
UDon  stormy  gusts  stirred  from  all  quarters  at  once. 

Odysseus  had  almost  thrown  himself  into  the  sea, 
when  he  awoke  to  learn  what  his  foolish  men  had  done ; 
and  they  too  repented  bitterly  of  their  meddlesomeness, 
for  now  the  conflicting  tempests  carried  them  helplessly 
back  to  the  island  of  -^olus.  There  disembarking,  their 
leader  explained  how  it  had  gone  with  him ;  but  this 
time  he  found  the  king  of  the  Winds  in  no  generous 
mood. 

"Begone,  ill-starred  wretch!"  was  his  reply.  "I 
have  no  more  help  for  him  who  is  abhorred  of  heaven." 


HIS  PERILOUS  VOYAGE  HOMEWARDS  305 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  out  to  sea 
again,  and  row  on  at  a  venture,  for  now  every  wind 
failed  them.  For  a  week  they  toiled  in  a  dead  calm^, 
and  on  the  seventh  day  made  the  rocky  harbour  of 
the  Laestrygonians,  where  most  of  the  ships  entered  to 
moor  themselves  in  a  row ;  but  Odysseus  was  heedful 
enough  to  tie  up  his  own  vessel  to  a  rock  outside, 
whence  he  climbed  a  point  to  spy  out  the  land.  And 
he  did  wisely,  for  this  people,  too,  turned  out  to  be 
cannibal  giants,  who  flocked  down  in  crowds  to  crush 
the  ships  under  a  shower  of  rocks  and  spear  the  poor 
sailors  like  fishes,  so  that  every  one  of  those  venturing 
in  went  to  feed  such  cruel  ogres.  In  the  nick  of  time, 
Odysseus  himself  cut  his  cable,  and  his  men  rowed  oflF 
for  their  lives,  amid  the  splash  of  rocks  the  Laestry- 
gonians pelted  at  them  till  they  were  clear  of  that  fatal 
haven. 

This  one  crew,  thus  far  lucky,  but  sad  for  the  loss 
of  their  comrades,  held  on  till  they  reached  another 
island,  so  tired  that  on  coming  to  shore  they  lay  two 
days  without  being  able  to  stir  or  caring  to  know  who 
lived  here.  It  was  indeed  the  home  of  the  fell  en- 
chantress Circe,  sister  of  Medea,  a  place  to  which  the 
Argonauts  had  found  their  way  years  before.  Not  till 
the  third  day  did  the  doughty  Odysseus  rouse  himself 
to  mount  a  hill  behind,  coming  back  with  a  fine  stag 
he  had  killed  for  dinner,  and  news  that '  he  had  seen 
smoke  rising  from  a  thick  wood  to  show  the  island 
inhabited. 

Their  misfortunes  having  made  them  prudent,  they 
now  divided  themselves  into  two  equal  bands,  under 
the  captain  and  his  lieutenant  Eurylochus,  the  one  to 
stay  by  the  ship,  the  other  to  go  forward  in  search  of 
the  natives,     Lots  were  cast  in  a  helmet,  and  it  fell  to 


3o6     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

Eurylochus  to  take  this  dangerous  quest,  so  off  he  set 
with  twenty-two  men,  fearful  of  coming  into  the  clutches 
of  some  other  ogre,  while  their  comrades  were  left  be- 
hind lamenting  over  them  as  if  never  to  be  seen 
again. 

And  on  reaching  that  wood  to  which  the  smoke 
guided  them,  in  the  middle  of  it  the  explorers  saw  a 
fine  stone  house,  guarded,  to  their  dismay,  by  a  troop 
of  lions  and  wolves ;  nor  were  they  less  troubled  when 
these  fierce  beasts  ran  up  frisking  and  fawning  about 
them  like  dogs,  wagging  their  tails  and  rubbing  their 
noses  against  the  sailors  as  if  in  friendly  welcome.  Since 
none  of  the  beasts  offered  to  bite,  the  men  presently 
took  heart  and  went  forward  till  they  could  hear  a 
woman's  voice  singing  within  as  she  worked  at  her 
loom.  Out  she  came  at  their  call,  and  kindly  bid  them 
enter,  as  they  did,  all  but  Eurylochus,  who  hung  about 
outside  in  cautious  suspicion.  And  well  that  was  for 
him,  since  the  enchantress  entertained  his  mates  with 
bewitched  meat  and  drink  on  which  they  fell  like  pigs, 
and  soon  ran  out  scampering,  grunting  and  squealing, 
every  one  of  them  turned  into  a  bristly  hog  by  a  stroke 
of  her  wand,  to  join  the  lions  and  wolves  that  had  all 
been  men  transformed  by  her  spells.  Eurylochus  only 
waited  to  see  them  penned  up  in  sties,  fed  with  acorns 
and  beechnuts ;  then  he  fled  back  to  the  ship,  in  too 
great  consternation  to  have  breath  or  words  for  at  once 
telling  what  had  happened. 

The  others  having  at  last  got  the  story  out  of  him, 
Odysseus  snatched  up  his  sword  and  bow,  for  he  was 
no  leader  to  leave  his  men  in  such  a  plight.  He  bid 
Eurylochus  go  along  to  show  the  way,  but  as  he  flatly 
refused  to  risk  being  turned  into  a  pig,  the  hero  set  out 
by  himself     Then  he  had  not  gone  far  when  he  fell  in 


HIS  PERILOUS  VOYAGE  HOMEWARDS  307 

with  a  noble  youth,  whose  errand  was  to  give  him  friendly 

warning. 

"  On  his  bloomy  face 
Youth  smird  celestial,  with  each  opening  grace. 
He  seiz'd  my  hand  and  gracious  thus  began: 
*  Ah!  whither  roam'st  thou,  much  enduring  manjf 
O  blind  to  fate!     What  led  thy  steps  to  rove 
The  horrid  mazes  of  this  magic  grove? 
Each  friend  you  seek  in  yon  inclosure  lies, 
All  lost  their  form,  and  habitants  of  sties. 
Think'st  thou  by  wit  to  model  their  escape? 
Sooner  shalt  thou,  a  stranger  to  thy  shape, 
Fall  prone  their  equal:  first  thy  danger  know: 
Then  take  the  antidote  the  gods  bestow. 
The  plant  I  give,  through  all  the  direful  bower 
Shall  guard  thee,  and  avert  the  evil  hour. 
Now  hear  her  wicked  arts.     Before  thy  eyes. 
The  bowl  shall  sparkle  and  the  banquet  rise. 
Take  this,  nor  from  the  faithless  feast  abstain; 
For  temper'd  drugs  and  poison  shall  be  vain. 
Soon  as  she  strikes  her  wand,  and  gives  the  word, 
Draw  forth  and  brandish  thy  refulgent  sword. 
And  menace  death:  those  menaces  shall  move 
Her  alter'd  mind  to  blandishment  and  love.'"^ 

This  was  in  truth  the  god  Hermes,  sent  by  the  guar- 
dian care  of  Athene ;  and  the  charm  he  gave  to  Odysseus 
was  the  sacred  herb  moly^  that  has  a  black  root  but  a  milk- 
white  flower,  and  can  be  plucked  only  by  celestial  hands 
— an  antidote  to  keep  men  safe  against  all  the  spells  of 
Circe. 

In  spite  of  the  god's  assurance,  it  was  with  misgiving 
the  hero  drew  near  that  house  of  enchantment,  and  called 
out  its  mistress.  She  invited  him  in,  set  him  on  a  lordly 
seat  and  gave  him  a  golden  goblet  full  of  honey,  meal, 
and  wine,  mixed  with  her  magical  drugs.  No  sooner 
had  he  drunk  than  she  struck  him  with  her  wand,  crying 

1  As  in  the  case  of  the  lliad^  translations  not  otherwise  marked  are  from  Pope. 


3o8     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

"Off  to  the  sty  with  your  mates!"  But  the  virtue  ot* 
the  herb  moly  was  stronger  than  her  potion ;  and  Odysseus 
not  only  kept  his  feet,  but,  as  Hermes  had  bid  him,  drew 
his  sword  upon  Circe,  making  as  if  he  would  kill  her. 
Amazed  and  terrified,  she  fell  down  to  clasp  his  knees, 
praying  for  mercy. 

"  Who  art  thou,  proof  to  my  spells? — surely  no  other 
than  the  great  Odysseus!  Sheathe  thy  sword,  and  let 
us  be  loving  friends." 

Odysseus  would  not  trust  this  witch  till  he  had  made 
her  swear  by  the  gods  to  do  him  no  harm;  nor  would  he 
eat  in  her  house  till  she  agreed  to  undo  the  spell  she  had 
laid  on  his  men.  Forthwith  she  anointed  the  pigs  with 
a  balm  that  rid  them  in  a  trice  of  their  bristles,  and  they 
stood  up  taller  and  manlier  than  ever.  After  this  proof 
of  goodwill,  Odysseus  fetched  the  rest  of  the  crew  to 
share  her  hospitality,  though  he  had  to  threaten  Eury- 
lochus  with  death  before  the  lieutenant  would  again 
venture  himself  in  Circe's  power. 

But  now  she  was  all  smiles  and  bounty.  Bathed, 
anointed,  and  dressed  in  fresh  clothes,  the  weary  sailors 
were  set  down  to  a  good  dinner.  So  well  did  they  fare, 
that  they  were  content  to  stay  with  her  for  days  and 
weeks  and  months,  fattening  like  pigs  in  manlike  form, 
while  they  forgot  all  the  perils  and  hardships  gone  by; 
and  the  charms  of  Circe  made  Odysseus  forget  how 
Penelope  would  be  awaiting  him  at  home. 

II.  From  Circe's  Isle  to  Calypso's 

Thus  a  whole  year  passed  by  in  careless  ease  for  those 
wanderers  that  had  escaped  the  arms  of  the  Cicons,  and 
the  snare  of  the  Lotos  land,  and  the  maw  of  the  Cyclops, 
and  the  giant  Laestrygonians,  and  the  cruelty  of  winds 


FROM   CIRCE'S   ISLE   TO   CALYPSO'S    309 

and  waves  stirred  up  against  them.  But  in  the  end  the 
sailors  grew  tired  of  having  nothing  to  do  but  eating  and 
drinking  and  sleeping  off  their  gluttony;  then  they  moved 
Odysseus  to  break  away  from  the  too  dear  delights  of 
this  enchanted  isle.  It  was  time  to  be  off,  said  they,  if 
ever  they  were  to  see  their  wives  and  children  again. 

So  now  at  last  the  hero  roused  himself  as  from  a 
dream.  Taking  Circe  in  a  favourable  mood,  he  let  her 
know  how  his  men  were  longing  to  get  home;  and  she 
did  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his  prayer.  Not  her  will  but 
the  decree  of  fate,  she  said,  kept  him  back.  So  far  from 
now  refusing  to  let  her  guests  go,  she  showed  herself 
ready  to  speed  them  with  guidance  and  advice.  But  to 
their  dismay,  she  told  them  that  they  must  first  sail  for 
Hades,  there  to  seek  counsel  from  the  ghost  of  the  blind 
prophet  Tiresias,  who  even  among  the  dead  was  counted 
wise  above  his  fellows. 

Bold  as  he  was  against  earthly  foes,  Odysseus  might 
well  shrink  from  nearing  the  abode  of  the  dead,  and  his 
men  bemoaned  themselves  as  already  lost;  but  there  was 
nothing  else  for  it.  Circe  took  leave  of  them  kindly, 
gave  them  directions  how  to  steer  for  that  gloomy  haven, 
and  put  on  board  a  ram  and  a  ewe  for  sacrifice  to  the 
powers  of  the  under  world.  So  with  many  misgivings 
they  put  to  sea  again,  all  but  one,  the  youngest  and  most 
foolish  of  the  crew,  Elpenor,  who,  sleeping  off  a  fit  of 
drunkenness  on  the  housetop,  when  roused  by  the  bustle 
of  departure  had  jumped  up  in  such  a  flurry  that  he 
tumbled  over  to  break  his  neck  and  go  straight  to  Hades 
without  more  ado. 

Away  they  sailed  before  a  fair  wind  raised  by  Circe, 
that  as  darkness  fell  brought  their  ship  into  the  deep 
water  of  Oceanus,  where  dwell  the  Cimmerians  in  end- 
less night.     Here  drawing  to  land,  they  went  on  foot 


310     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

along  the  shore  as  far  as  a  rock,  beneath  which  the  rivers 
Phlegethon,  Cocytus,  and  Styx  rush  together.  At  this 
weird  spot,  as  the  enchantress  had  bidden,  they  dug  a 
deep  trench,  and  over  it  cut  the  throats  of  the  sacrificed 
victims,  so  that  the  blood  ran  into  it;  and  Odysseus  poured 
libations  of  honey  and  milk  and  wine,  all  sprinkled  with 
barley  meal,  calling  on  the  name  of  Tiresias,  for  whom 
he  promised  his  best  heifer,  with  other  worthy  offerings, 
as  soon  as  he  got  safe  to  Ithaca.  When  the  pale  shades 
sniffed  the  blood,  they  came  crowding  up  from  every 
nook  of  Hades,  eager  to  get  a  taste  of  life. 

"  All  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  departed  from  the  Nether  Dusk  'gan  fare. 
And  brides  there  were  and  younglings,  and  burdened  elders  there. 
And  there  were  tender  maidens  still  bearing  newborn  woe. 
And  many  a  man  death-smitten  by  the  brazen  spear  did  go, 
The  very  prey  of  Ares,  yet  clad  in  blood-stained  gear; 
And  all  the  throng  kept  flitting  round  the  pit  from  here  and  there 
With  strange  and  awful  crying,  till  pale  fear  fell  on  me. 
So  therewith  I  bade  my  fellows,  and  urged  them  eagerly 
That  the  sheep  that  lay  there  slaughtered  by  the  pitiless  brass  they 

should  flay, 
And  make  them  a  burnt  offering,  and  so  to  the  Gods  to  pray; 
Unto  Hades  the  almighty  and  the  dread  Persephone." 

— W,  Morris. 

Odysseus  had  to  draw  his  sword  to  keep  back  all 
other  ghosts  from  the  blood  till  Tiresias  should  have 
answered  his  summons.  The  first  that  pressed  forward 
was  young  Elpenor,  the  latest  come  to  Hades,  flitting 
about  disconsolate  because  his  body  still  lay  unburied 
at  the  halls  of  Circe;  but  he  took  cheer  when  his  captain 
promised  to  burn  it  and  build  a  tomb  for  him,  and  set 
up  as  a  monument  the  oar  at  which  the  youngster  had 
tugged  in  life.  Next,  to  the  further  side  of  the  trench 
came  Anticleia,  mother  of  Odysseus,  whom  he  had  left 
alive  when  he  sailed  for  Troy,  and  knew  not  till  now 


FROM   CIRCE'S   ISLE   TO   CALYPSO'S    311 

of  her  death;  but  though  he  saw  her  with  tears,  his 
sword  held  his  own  mother  back  from  the  trench  over 
which  she  stretched  her  shadowy  arms.  At  last  came 
the  blind  Theban  Tiresias,  leaning  on  his  golden  staff; 
and  he  first  was  let  stoop  to  drink  that  blood  that  gave 
him  voice  to  prophesy  as  of  old. 

"  Odysseus,"  quoth  he,  "  thy  homecoming  will  be  no 
halcyon  voyage,  since  Neptune  bears  a  spite  against  the 
man  that  blinded  his  Cyclops  son.  Yet  all  may  go  well 
if,  when  ye  reach  the  Trinacrian  shore,  ye  harm  not  the 
herds  of  the  Sun  that  pasture  there.  But  to  slay  them 
will  bring  wreck  on  ships  and  men;  and  if  thou  thyself 
should  escape  in  sorry  plight,  it  will  be  to  find  thy  house 
full  of  trouble.  And  in  the  end  death  will  come  to  thee 
from  the  sea." 

Other  charges  he  gave  for  the  hero  to  treasure  in 
mind;  then  Tiresias  went  back  to  his  place,  and  the 
mother  of  Odysseus  in  turn  might  come  forward  to  taste 
the  blood  and  in  the  strength  of  it  speak  to  her  son, 
eagerly  asking  how  he  came  to  Hades  while  still  alive. 
Not  less  eagerly  did  he  ask  for  news  of  home,  and  heard 
that  Anticleia  had  died  of  grief  for  his  absence,  but  that 
his  father  Laertes  was  still  on  earth  in  feeble  and  woeful 
age,  and  that  Penelope  his  wife  never  ceased  to  await 
him  with  tears.  Moved  by  the  very  sight  of  her,  thrice 
he  would  have  embraced  the  mournful  ghost;  but  each 
time  she  melted  out  of  his  arms  like  a  dream. 

And  now  thronged  round  him  many  a  shade,  all  so 
wild  for  a  taste  of  blood,  that  again  he  had  to  threaten 
them  with  his  sword,  letting  one  only  drink  and  speak 
at  a  time.  Many  a  fair  woman  he  beheld,  and  many 
a  famous  hero,  among  them  his  comrades  at  the  siege 
of  Troy.  What  was  his  amazement  to  recognize  Aga- 
memnon,  so  mighty  of  limb,   now   flitting  among   the 


312     THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

feeble  ghosts,  and  to  hear  from  him  how,  after  escaping 
all  chances  of  war  and  weather,  he  had  been  done  to 
death  at  home  by  his  false  wife!  But  when  that  king 
of  men  asked  after  his  son  Orestes,  Odysseus  could  tell 
him  nothing  of  the  youth's  hatching  revenge  against  his 
father's  foes.  It  was  not  so  when  Achilles  came  to  view, 
for  in  him  the  living  man  was  able  to  breathe  a  flush  of 
pride  by  relating  the  deeds  of  Neoptolemus,  a  son  worthy 
of  his  sire.  That  was  one  spark  of  cheer  to  the  herOj 
who  had  so  little  joy  in  his  own  fate  that  when  Odysseus 
saluted  him  as  a  king  among  the  shades,  the  once  high- 
souled  Achilles  made  bitter  answer — 

"Talk  not  of  ruling  in  this  dolorous  gloom, 
Nor  think  vain  words,  he  cried,  can  ease  my  doom. 
Rather  I'd  choose  laboriously  to  bear 
A  weight  of  woes,  and  breathe  the  vital  air, 
A  slave  to  some  poor  hind  that  toils  for  bread. 
Than  reign  the  sceptred  monarch  of  the  dead!" 

Other  old  friends  he  hailed,  yea,  and  foes:  Ajax  for 
one  frowned  on  him,  remembering  their  rivalry  even  in 
death;  and  when  Odysseus  would  have  appeased  him, 
the  resentful  ghost  turned  away  without  a  word.  Great 
ones  of  old  he  saw,  Minos  and  Orion  and  Hercules;  also 
arrant  sinners,  Tantalus  and  Sisyphus  groaning  in  their 
endless  torment,  and  Tityus  stretched  out  upon  roods 
of  ground  for  a  deathless  vulture  to  prey  upon  his  vitals. 
But  so  thick  grew  the  crowd  of  doleful  ghosts,  and  so 
loud  their  lamentation,  that  soon  Odysseus  turned  away 
with  a  shudder,  fearing  to  come  face  to  face  with  the 
very  Gorgon  if  he  tarried  longer.  Back  he  sped  to  his 
snip,  and  bade  the  men  be  quick  to  unmoor  from  this 
dark  haven  of  the  dead. 

With  a  will  they  rowed  down  the  Ocean  river,  that 
took  them  into  the  open  sea;  and  here  again  the  wind 


FROM   CIRCE'S   ISLE   TO   CALYPSO'S    313 

was  fair  to  waft  them  back  to  Circe's  isle.  There  the 
first  thing  they  did  was  to  burn  and  entomb  the  body 
of  young  Elpenor,  that  his  soul  might  have  rest  among 
the  shades.  Again  the  enchantress  gave  them  friendly 
entertainment ;  but  Odysseus  she  drew  aside  to  learn 
how  he  had  fared  in  Hades,  and  to  ply  him  with  warn- 
ings against  the  further  perils  of  his  course. 

And  well  her  warnings  served  him  when  they  again 
took  the  sea,  still  with  a  favouring  wind  that  soon 
brought  them  to  the  isle  of  the  Sirens,  those  sisters  of 
enticing  song.  So  sweetly  they  sang  that  all  who  heard 
them  were  drawn  on  shore  to  where  they  sat  in  a  field 
of  flowers,  blooming  among  the  bones  of  men  thus  lured 
to  their  death.  But  on  Circe's  counsel,  before  they 
came  within  earshot,  Odysseus  stopped  the  ears  of  his 
men  with  wax,  and  made  them  bind  himself  fast  to  the 
mast,  charging  them  by  no  means  to  unloose  him,  how- 
ever he  might  beg  or  command  when  his  ears  were 
filled  with  the  fatal  voices. 

Thus  prepared,  winged  by  their  oars  they  flew  past 
the  beach  on  which  could  be  seen  the  Siren  Sisters,  and 
over  the  waters  came  their  tempting  strains,  heard  by 
the  captain  alone. 

"  Come,  pride  of  Achaia,  Odysseus,  draw  nigh  us! 

Come,  list  to  our  chant,  rest  the  oar  from  its  rowing: 
Never  yet  was  there  any  whose  galley  fled  by  us. 

But,  sweet  as  the  drops  from  the  honeycomb  flowing, 

Our  voices  enthralled  him,  and  stayed  his  ongoing. 
And  he  passed  from  that  rapture  more  wise  than  aforetime: 

For  we  know  all  the  toil  that  in  Troyland  befell. 
When  the  will  of  the  Gods  was  wrought  out  in  the  war-time: 

Yea,  all  that  is  done  on  the  earth  can  we  tell." 

—A.  S.  Way, 

Their    song    so    thrilled    his    heart    that    Odysseus 

struggled    hard    to   get   loose,    and   by  cries    and    signs 
(C288)  12 


314    THE  ADVENTURES  OF   ODYSSEUS 

would  have  bidden  his  men  undo  the  cords ;  but  they 
tied  him  up  all  the  tighter,  and  deaf  to  him  as  to  the 
Siren  music,  rowed  their  best  till  they  were  far  out  of 
hearing.  Then  only  they  unbound  him,  and  took  the 
wax  from  their  ears ;  and  for  once  the  Sirens  had  sung 
in  vain. 

But,  that  peril  hardly  passed,  another  arose  before 
them  where  the  waters  boiled  with  a  fierce  roaring  that 
made  the  men  drop  their  oars,  staring  aghast  into  the 
smother  of  spray  and  foam.  It  was  all  Odysseus  could 
do  to  hearten  them  for  rowing  on,  and  he  durst  not 
tell  them  the  worst  he  had  learned  from  Circe  of  this 
fearful  passage,  beset  by  two  monsters  hungering  for 
the  lives  of  luckless  mariners.  For  now  they  must 
tug  swiftly  and  steer  deftly  between  the  two  rocks,  no 
more  than  a  bow-shot  apart.  Under  the  lower  rock  was 
prisoned  Charybdis,  hateful  daughter  of  Poseidon,  that 
three  times  a  day  belched  out  a  whirlpool,  and  three  times 
sucked  it  back  with  all  that  came  into  its  resistless  gulp. 
Still  more  dreadful  was  the  opposite  den  of  Scylla. 

"  High  in  the  air  the  rock  its  summit  shrouds 
In  brooding  tempests  and  in  rolling  clouds. 
Loud  storms  around,  and  mists  eternal,  rise, 
Beat  its  bleak  brow,  and  intercept  the  skies. 
When  all  the  broad  expansion,  bright  with  day. 
Glows  with  th'  autumnal  or  the  summer  ray, 
The  summer  and  the  autumn  glow  in  vain. 
The  sky  for  ever  lowers:  for  ever  clouds  remain. 
Impervious  to  the  step  of  man  it  stands. 

Though  borne  by  twenty  feet,  though  arm'd  with  twenty  hands. 
Smooth  as  the  polish  of  the  mirror  rise 
The  slippery  sides,  and  shoot  into  the  skies. 
Full  in  the  centre  of  this  rock  displayed 
A  yawning  cavern  casts  a  dreadful  shade: 
Nor  the  fleet  arrow  from  the  twanging  bow, 
Sent  with  full  force,  could  reach  the  depth  below." 


FROM   CIRCE'S   ISLE   TO   CALYPSO'S    315 

The  ravenous  creature  that  haunted  here  was,  men 
say,  a  daughter  of  the  sea-god  Phorcys,  on  whom  a 
jealous  witch  had  worked  woe,  mixing  in  her  bath 
maleficent  herbs  to  change  her  into  a  twelve-footed 
and  six-headed  monster,  greedy  to  prey  on  all  that  came 
within  reach  of  her  yelping  jaws  and  rows  of  gnashing 
teeth.  Circe  had  advised  Odysseus  to  make  no  show 
of  fight  against  such  a  fell  foe ;  but  he,  ever  too 
venturesome,  put  on  his  armour  and  took  his  stand  at 
the  prow  as  if  to  defy  that  cruel  hag.  Keenly  scanning 
the  rock  well,  at  first  he  could  see  nothing  of  her  as  they 
shot  through  the  gloomy  strait ;  but  when  they  shrank 
away  from  the  yawning  mouth  of  Charybdis  to  hug  the 
opposite  side,  suddenly  she  darted  out  her  six  heads, 
and  in  a  trice  Odysseus  saw  six  of  his  best  men  snatched 
up  into  the  air,  screaming  and  stretching  their  hands  for 
help  in  vain,  as  she  hauled  them  into  the  mouth  of  the 
cave :  never  in  all  his  adventures  did  he  see  a  more 
grisly  sight ! 

But  with  that  they  were  quit  of  danger,  for  now  the 
scared  sailors  rowed  clear  through  those  jaws  of  death; 
and  soon  they  saw  loom  ahead  the  great  three-cornered 
island,  on  which  they  could  hear  the  lowing  and  bleat- 
ing of  the  Sun -god's  herds.  Mindful  of  warnings  given 
him  both  by  Tiresias  and  by  Circe,  Odysseus  ordered 
his  crew  to  row  on  without  touching  here ;  but  they, 
weary  of  hard  toil,  would  no  longer  obey,  and  Eury- 
lochus  insolently  spoke  for  the  others  that,  not  being 
made  of  iron,  they  must  go  on  shore  for  a  night's  rest. 
Odysseus  had  to  give  way ;  yet,  before  mooring  in  a 
harbour  they  found  on  the  rocky  coast,  he  made  them 
all  take  a  solemn  oath  not  to  meddle  with  the  god's 
cattle;  then  they  landed  to  cook  their  supper  and  to  sleep 
away  their  grief  for  those  six  comrades  so  miserably  lost. 


3i6     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

Next  morning  they  should  have  been  ofF  betimes, 
had  not  a  sudden  tempest  risen  through  the  night,  in 
face  of  which  they  durst  not  put  out  to  sea ;  and  for  a 
whole  month  blew  contrary  winds  to  keep  them  im- 
prisoned on  the  island.  Soon  came  to  an  end  the  corn 
and  wine  with  which  Circe  had  provisioned  them  ;  then 
the  men  wandered  here  and  there,  trying  to  catch  fish 
or  snare  birds ;  and  many  a  hungry  eye  was  cast  on  the 
fat  herds  of  the  Sun-god  which  they  had  sworn  not  to 
touch. 

They  seemed  like  to  starve,  when  Odysseus  sought 
a  solitary  place  in  which  to  pray  to  the  gods  alone. 
While  his  back  was  turned,  the  mutinous  Eurylochus 
stirred  up  the  rest  to  lay  hands  on  the  sacred  cattle, 
for,  said  he,  no  god  could  send  them  a  punishment 
worse  than  dying  by  inches  of  famine.  On  coming 
back,  their  captain  was  startled  by  the  smell  of  roast 
meat,  and  to  his  wrathful  dismay  he  found  the  sailors 
gorging  themselves  on  carcasses  which  they  had  butchered 
in  guise  of  a  sacrifice.  It  was  too  late  for  him  to  forbid, 
nor  did  his  greedy  men  heed  the  prodigies  that  appeared 
to  rebuke  their  crime,  for  the  very  hides  of  the  dead 
beasts  rose  and  walked,  and  the  joints  on  the  spits 
lowed  as  if  still  alive.  For  a  week  they  kept  up  the 
impious  banquet,  in  spite  of  all  entreaty  or  warning ; 
till  at  last  came  a  blink  of  fine  weather  to  tempt  them 
to  their  doom. 

Meanwhile,  Hyperion  the  Sun-god  had  made  loud 
complaint  in  heaven,  threatening  to  forsake  the  sky 
and  to  shine  henceforth  down  in  Hades  among  the 
dead,  unless  he  were  granted  vengeance  upon  those  in- 
solent men  that  had  ravaged  his  beloved  herds.  Zeus 
appeased  him  by  promising  swift  punishment ;  and 
Poseidon    had   kept   an   angry   eye   on   that   crew   ever 


FROM   CIRCE'S   ISLE   TO   CALYPSO'S    317 

since  the  blinding  of  his  Cyclops  son.  So  no  sooner 
were  they  out  of  sight  of  land,  than  the  storm  burst 
upon  them  afresh.  The  first  squall  blew  out  their  mast 
to  crush  the  steersman  in  its  toppling  over ;  and  as  the 
broken  hulk  tossed  ungoverned  upon  the  waves,  from 
the  dark  sky  shot  a  thunderbolt  that  shivered  it  to 
pieces. 

Every  man  was  swallowed  up  by  the  raging  sea, 
save  only  Odysseus,  who  contrived  to  catch  hold  of  the 
mast,  and  to  tie  it  with  other  wreckage,  making  a  raft 
on  which  he  floated  back  towards  Scylla  and  Charybdis. 
Here  he  was  like  to  have  been  sucked  down,  but  he 
caught  hold  of  a  fig  tree  that  overhung  the  rock  of 
Charybdis,  and  held  on  till  the  raft  bobbed  up  below 
his  feet,  vomited  out  again  by  the  black  whirlpool. 
Once  more  clinging  to  it  he  drifted  away ;  and  for 
nine  days  was  carried  by  winds  and  waves,  whither  he 
knew  not,  till  the  tenth  night  washed  his  raft  on  shore. 

The  hero  came  thus  stranded  on  the  island  of  Ogygia, 
where  dwelt  the  divine  nymph  Calypso,  daughter  of 
Atlas.  She,  like  Circe,  was  an  enchantress,  but  her 
charms  lay  in  lovely  looks  and  loving  eyes ;  and  her 
wooded  island  home  was  as  beautiful  as  its  mistress. 
To  a  shipwrecked  mariner  the  grotto  in  which  she  lived 
might  well  seem  a  blessed  haven. 

"  Around,  thick  groves  their  summer-dress 
Wore  in  luxuriant  loveliness — 
Alder  and  poplar  quiver'd  there, 
And  fragrant  cypress  tower'd  in  air. 
And  there  broad-pinion'd  birds  were  seen, 
Nesting  amid  the  foliage  green; 
Birds,  which  the  marge  of  ocean  haunt — 
Gull,  prating  daw,  and  cormorant; 
And  there,  the  deep  mouth  of  the  cave 
Fringing,  the  clustered  vine-boughs  wave. 


31 8     THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ODYSSEUS 

Sprung  from  near  sources,  bright  and  gay 
Four  limpid  fountains  urge  their  way 
Divergent,  o'er  the  parsley'd  mead. 
Where  the  sweet  violet  droops  its  head — 
A  scene,  should  gods  survey  the  sight. 
E'en  gods  might  gaze  on  with  delight!" 

— Wrangham. 

To  this  solitary  abode  Calypso  welcomed  Odysseus 
with  kindness,  soon  warming  into  love  for  the  guest  who, 
time  -  worn  and  toil  -  scarred,  was  still  a  goodly  man  in 
her  soft  eyes.  So  well  she  loved  him  that  she  would 
have  him  never  leave  the  island;  and  at  first  the  hero 
was  content  to  rest  here  from  his  weary  wanderings.  So 
months  sped  by,  and  years,  as  in  a  dream.  A  spell  of 
immortal  beauty  seemed  laid  upon  Penelope^s  husband, 
so  that  he  forgot  all  but  the  passing  hours  of  happiness. 
Yet  as  time  went  by,  he  remembered  his  own  rough 
island;  and  often,  stealing  apart  from  his  charmer,  would 
sit  by  the  shore  alone,  to  gaze  over  the  waves  with  wistful 
thoughts  of  home. 

Meanwhile  at  Ithaca  his  sire  Laertes  and  his  wife 
Penelope  had  heavy  hearts,  vainly  hoping  his  return. 
The  suitors  of  the  faithful  queen  grew  more  and  more 
urgent,  living  insolently  in  the  house  of  Odysseus,  and 
wasting  his  substance,  since  now  they  had  no  fear  to  see 
him  back.  The  lad  Telemachus  had  been  growing  up 
to  be  like  his  father;  but  for  long  he  was  too  modest  to 
withstand  the  riotous  crew  making  themselves  at  home, 
as  if  already  his  inheritance  had  passed  to  a  stepfather. 
Then  there  came  a  day  when  Pallas-Athene  breathed  into 
him  the  spirit  to  rebuke  those  self-invited  guests,  and 
to  declare  that  he  meant  being  master  in  his  own  house. 
And  when  they  jeered  at  the  youth,  with  threats  and 
complaints  of  Penelope's  obduracy,  he  suddenly  announced 
his  intention  of  taking  ship  for  the  mainland,  there  to 


FROM   CIRCE'S   ISLE  TO  CALYPSO'S    319 

seek  out  news  of  his  father.  If  he  could  hear  of  him 
as  still  alive,  he  would  put  up  with  the  suitors  for  one 
year  more;  but  if  Odysseus  were  certainly  dead,  he  him- 
self would  insist  on  his  mother  making  her  choice  among 
them,  as  at  liberty  to  marry  again. 

She  herself  had  practised  craft  against  the  importunity 
of  the  suitors.  Some  god  inspired  her,  as  she  thought, 
to  set  up  a  loom  for  weaving  a  great  and  splendid  web 
to  be  seemly  shroud  for  old  Laertes;  and  not  till  it  was 
ended,  she  told  them,  would  she  be  free  to  wed.  Cease- 
lessly her  fingers  worked  at  it,  but  every  night  she  sat 
up  by  torchlight,  privily  undoing  the  labour  of  the  day. 
The  tale  came  to  be  told  in  Hades  by  one  of  those  long- 
deceived  suitors,  at  last  sent  to  his  doom. 

"  We  wooed  the  wife  of  Odysseus,  the  lord  so  long  away, 
And  unto  that  loathly  wedding  said  she  neither  yea  nor  nay. 
But  the  black  doom  and  the  deathday  devised  for  us  the  while; 
Yea  in  our  heart  she  devised  us  moreover  this  same  guile; 
With  a  web  that  was  great  and  mighty  her  loom  in  the  house  did  she 

gear, 
A  fine  web,  full  of  measure,  and  thus  bespake  us  there. 

"  *  O  younglings,  ye  my  Wooers,  since  the  godlike  Odysseus  is  dead, 
Await  ye  abiding  the  wedding  till  I  to  an  end  have  sped 
This  cloth,  for  fear  the  warp -threads  should  waste  and  come  to 

nought. 
'Tis  a  shroud  for  the  lord  Laertes  'gainst  the  day  when  he  shall  be 

caught 
At  the  last  by  the  baleful  doom  of  Death,  the  Outstretcher  of  men: 
Lest  the  women  of  Achaeans  through  the  folk  should  blame  me  then, 
— Lo  the  man  of  many  possessions  he  lieth  lacking  a  shroud!* 

"  So  she  spoke,  for  the  while  prevailing  o'er  our  hearts  the  high  and 

proud. 
And    thenceforth    o'er    that  web    the   mighty   by  daylight   still   she 

wrought; 
But  ever  by  night  undid  it  when  the  candles  thereto  she  had  brought. 


320     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

Three  years  she  beguiled  the  Achaeans,  and  the  thing  by  guile  did  hide, 
But  when  came  on  the  fourth  year  and  the  seasons  came  in  their  tide, 
By  all  the  waning  of  moons  and  the  many  days  fulfilled, 
Then  one  of  the  women  told  us,  who  in  the  guile  was  skilled. 
And  we  found  her  there  unweaving  the  noble  web  of  cloth; 
And  so  to  an  end  must  she  bring  it  perforce  and  exceeding  loth." 

— W.  Morris. 

That  device  being  treacherously  disclosed,  she  had 
no  further  excuse  for  putting  off  the  choice  pressed  upon 
her.  If  her  true -loved  husband  came  home,  it  must 
be  soon  or  never.  So  she  waited  in  prayers  and  tears, 
while  young  Telemachus  secretly  sailed  away  to  Greece, 
inspired  and  accompanied  by  Pallas  in  disguise  of  his 
honest  guardian  Mentor. 

Landing  at  Pylos,  he  sought  out  old  Nestor,  who  had 
much  to  tell  of  the  Trojan  war,  but  could  not  tell  what 
had  become  of  Odysseus.  Nestor's  son,  Pisistratus, 
drove  him  on  to  Sparta,  to  be  there  courteously  received 
by  Menelaus  and  Helen,  now  reconciled  after  their  long 
divorce.  Menelaus  was  not  without  tidings  of  his  famous 
comrade.  He  himself  had  made  a  wandering  voyage 
home,  in  the  course  of  which  it  was  his  fortune  to  come 
upon  Proteus,  the  wise  old  man  of  the  sea,  whose  know- 
ledge had  to  be  wrung  from  him  by  force.  When  Mene- 
laus and  his  companions,  disguised  in  seal  skins,  caught 
that  keeper  of  Poseidon's  herds,  basking  on  the  shore, 
he  changed  in  their  hands  to  a  lion,  a  leopard,  a  boar, 
and  a  serpent  in  turn,  now  melting  into  a  fountain,  now 
springing  up  as  a  tree;  but  to  those  bold  enough  to  hold 
him  fast  under  all  his  transformations,  he  was  bound 
to  tell  truth  at  the  end.  Thus  constrained,  he  had  let 
Menelaus  know  how  Odysseus  was  a  prisoner  in  Calypso's 
cave,  vainly  longing  to  go  free  from  her  flowery  charms. 
Having   heard  of  his   father  as  still   alive,  Telemachus 


FROM    CIRCE'S   ISLE  TO   CALYPSO'S   3:^1 

made  haste  back  to  Ithaca,  where  the  suspicious  suitors, 
on  learning  his  absence,  were  now  plotting  an  ambush  to 
fall  upon  him  as  he  reached  home. 

Mentor  had  abandoned  him  on  the  journey,  resuming 
the  divine  form  of  Pallas,  who  went  about  a  greater  ser- 
vice to  this  house  which  she  had  taken  under  her  charge. 
When  now  for  seven  years  Odysseus  had  lain  in  Calypso's 
isle,  half-entranced,  half-yearning  to  escape,  the  maiden 
goddess  pled  his  cause  in  a  council  of  Olympus,  from 
which  only  Poseidon  was  absent.  That  insatiable  per- 
secutor of  the  much -enduring  man  having  gone  off  to 
enjoy  a  hecatomb  offered  him  by  the  Ethiopians,  the 
other  gods  were  easily  moved  to  pity  for  such  a  hero, 
and  Zeus  himself  now  remembered  how  dutiful  in  prayers 
and  offerings  Odysseus  had  been  during  the  days  of  his 
prosperity.  So  while  Pallas  went  back  to  earth  as  coun- 
sellor of  Telemachus,  Hermes  was  sent  to  Calypso,  bear- 
ing a  supreme  command  that  her  guest  should  be  let  go 
and  furthered  on  his  voyage  homewards. 

Ill-pleased  was  Calypso  with  this  injunction,  which  she 
durst  not  disregard.  Yet  when  she  sought  out  Odysseus 
sitting  homesick  on  the  shore,  to  tell  him  how  his  heart's 
wish  might  now  be  gratified,  she  still  would  have  tempted 
him  to  stay,  reminding  him  of  the  trials  and  perils  of  the 
sea,  promising  to  share  with  him  her  own  immortality,  if  he 
could  forget  that  mere  woman  Penelope,  who  surely  did 
not  rival  herself  in  beauty.  His  first  idea  of  her  tidings 
had  been  that  they  were  too  good  to  be  true,  and  that 
there  must  be  some  trick  under  her  offer  to  let  him  build 
a  boat  for  leaving  the  island;  but  she  swore  by  the  Styx, 
mightiest  oath  of  the  gods,  that  no  harm  was  intended 
him:  he  was  verily  free  to  go,  if  he  could  bear  to  leave 
her.  Then  it  wrung  her  heart  to  hear  him  answer  with 
kindling  eye — 

CC288)  i2a 


j22     THE  ADVENTURES   OF  ODYSSEUS 

"  Goddess  and  mistress,  be  not  wroth  with  me 
Herein:  for  very  well  myself  I  know 
That,  set  beside  you,  wise  Penelope 

"  Were  far  less  stately  and  less  fair  to  view. 
Being  but  mortal  woman,  nor  like  you 
Ageless  and  deathless:  but  yet  even  so 
I  long  and  yearn  to  see  my  home  anew; 

"And  through  all  days  I  see  that  one  day  shine: 
But  if  amid  the  ocean  bright  as  wine 
Once  more  some  God  shall  break  me,  then  once  more 
With  steadfast  purpose  would  my  heart  incline 

**  Still  to  endurance,  and  would  suffer  still, 
As  ofttimes  I  have  suffered,  many  an  ill 
And  many  a  woe  in  wave  or  war;  and  now 
Let  this  too  follow  after,  if  it  will." 

— Mackail. 

Much  as  it  went  against  her  heart,  Calypso  did  all 
she  could  to  speed  his  departure.  She  gave  him  tools 
to  cut  down  trees,  with  which  he  built  a  raft,  and  her 
own  garments  she  brought  to  make  sails  for  it,  and  stored 
his  little  craft  with  victuals  and  skins  of  wine  and  water; 
and  she  raised  for  him  a  softly  favouring  breeze,  when 
on  the  fifth  day  he  launched  forth,  too  ready  to  see  the 
last  of  that  charming  hostess. 


III.  New  Friends  in  Need 

Once  out  at  sea,  his  sailor-craft  came  back  to  Odysseus, 
long  as  he  had  lain  idle  on  land.  Steering  heedfully  by 
the  Pleiades  and  the  North  Star,  for  seventeen  days  he 
never  shut  his  eyes  nor  took  his  hand  from  the  helm,  till 
the  eighteenth  dawn  showed  him  welcome  land  ahead. 
But  now  Poseidon,  returning  from  his  banquet  among 
the  Ethiopians,  spied  out  that  lonely  voyager,  and  made 


NEW   FRIENDS   IN   NEED  323 

haste  to  work  him  ill.  The  wrathful  god  lashed  up  the 
sea  with  his  trident,  calling  forth  storm  winds  from  every 
quarter  to  wrestle  round  the  little  raft  and  whirl  it  about 
like  thistledown. 

"Would  that  I  had  died  illustriously  among  the 
heroes  of  Troy!"  was  Odysseus'  thought,  as  he  felt  his 
frail  craft  breaking  up  beneath  him. 

A  kindly  sea  nymph,  perching  on  the  wreck  in  form 
of  a  gull,  advised  him  to  take  to  swimming;  but  though 
already  half- drowned,  the  poor  sailor  tried  to  stick 
to  his  raft  as  long  as  she  would  hold  together,  for  he 
feared  some  new  trick  being  played  upon  him  by  mis- 
chievous gods.  Before  long,  however,  he  saw  nothing 
else  for  it  but  to  throw  off  his  garments  and  plunge 
among  the  waves;  and  that  sea  nymph  Leucothea,  who, 
in  mortal  form,  had  been  Ino,  daughter  of  Cadmus,  cast 
over  him  a  magic  scarf  that  bare  up  his  stalwart  body. 
When  Poseidon  saw  him  beaten  about  from  billow  to 
billow,  he  made  no  more  ado,  but  drove  home  in  his 
chariot,  chuckling  over  the  perilous  plight  of  one  to 
whom  he  owed  such  a  grudge. 

And  now  indeed  the  hero  had  been  lost  but  for  the 
aid  of  Pallas,  who  laid  all  the  winds  but  one,  and  let  that 
carry  him  steadily  towards  the  land.  Two  days  and  two 
nights  he  kept  himself  afloat  on  the  swell;  and  when  the 
third  morning  broke,  a  joyful  sight  of  wooded  hills  close 
by  gave  him  strength  to  strike  out  for  dry  ground.  But 
it  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  on  shore,  for  before  him 
stretched  a  sheer  wall  of  surf-beaten  rocks,  rising  sud- 
denly from  deep  water.  Dashed  against  the  sharp  edges, 
to  which  he  would  have  clung  with  his  bleeding  hands, 
he  found  himself  sucked  back  by  the  waves  before  he 
could  get  firm  hold  or  footing  to  climb  beyond  their 
reach.     There  was   nothing  for  it  but  to  swim  a  little 


324     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

way  out,  and  keep  on  along  the  coast  till  he  came  off 
the  mouth  of  a  river.  Praying  the  god  of  this  stream 
to  receive  him  as  a  suppliant,  he  turned  into  its  quiet 
channel,  where  at  last  he  was  able  to  drag  himself  ashore, 
so  battered  out  of  breath  and  strength  that  he  lay  in  a 
swoon,  and  only  after  a  little  was  able  to  kiss  the  ground 
in  token  of  thankfulness. 

But  not  yet  did  he  seem  safe.  Night  was  drawing 
on,  and  the  chill  wind  numbed  his  weary  nakedness.  He 
crawled  into  a  wood  for  shelter,  and  made  himself  a  bed 
of  dry  leaves,  to  forget  his  troubles  in  such  sleep  as  falls 
on  men  who  for  long  have  not  dared  close  an  eye. 

"  As  some  poor  peasant,  fated  to  reside 
Remote  from  neighbours,  in  a  forest  wide. 
Studious  to  save  what  human  wants  require, 
In  embers  heaped  preserves  the  seeds  of  fire: 
Hid  in  dry  foliage  thus  Ulysses  lies 
Till  Pallas  poured  soft  slumbers  on  his  eyes." 

Now  the  island  where  he  had  this  time  come  on  shore 
was  Scheria,  inhabited  by  the  rich  Phaeacians,  a  people 
better  known  as  traders  than  as  warriors,  whose  city  and 
the  palace  of  their  king  Alcinous  stood  not  far  from  that 
river  mouth  that  gave  the  hero  refuge.  Softly  and  sump- 
tuously they  lived,  yet  their  women  folk,  high  and  low, 
were  not  too  proud  for  housewifely  cares.  That  night, 
as  Nausicaa  the  king's  daughter  lay  asleep,  a  dream  sent 
by  Pallas  put  into  her  head  to  see  after  a  great  washing 
of  linen,  that  all  things  might  be  ready  for  her  marriage 
feast,  now  that  she  had  no  lack  of  suitors.  So  in  the 
morning  she  asked  her  father  to  let  her  have  a  mule 
wagon,  which  she  loaded  with  the  foul  clothes  of  the 
family,  and  drove  off  with  her  maids  to  the  river  bank 
for  a  long  day's  work. 

Turning  out  the  mules  to  graze,  this  bevy  of  girls 


NEW   FRIENDS   IN   NEED  325 

set  the  garments  soaking  in  cisterns  of  fresh  water,  and 
vied  with  each  other  in  the  trampling  them  under  their 
white  feet,  as  seemed  task  fit  for  a  king's  daughter  who 
hoped  to  be  mistress  of  a  lordly  home.  When  the 
cleansed  apparel  had  all  been  wrung  out  and  spread  to 
dry  on  the  sunny  beach,  they  bathed  and  anointed 
themselves;  then,  after  taking  their  dinner  in  the  open 
air,  began  to  play  at  ball  by  way  of  pastime,  Nausicaa 
singing  to  them  while  they  waited  for  the  sun  to  finish 
their  work.  None  of  these  sportive  maidens  guessed 
how  a  shipwrecked  man  was  sleeping  in  the  wood  close 
by;  nor  did  their  merry  noise  disturb  the  tired  Odysseus 
till  late  in  the  day,  when,  on  a  ball  thrown  amiss  falling 
into  the  river,  they  all  raised  such  a  shrill  clamour  that 
he  woke  up  with  a  start. 

Peering  out  of  his  covert,  at  first  he  was  ashamed  to 
show  himself  near  this  troop  of  girls,  without  a  rag  on 
him  as  he  stood.  But  he  must  not  lose  such  a  chance 
of  succour  in  such  hard  plight,  so  he  plucked  a  leafy 
branch  to  make  a  screen  for  his  body,  and  thus  strangely 
arrayed  came  forth  to  view.  At  the  sight  of  a  naked 
man,  all  bruised  and  brine-stained,  with  famine  in  his  eye, 
these  handmaidens  might  well  shriek  and  run  for  it,  as 
from  a  savage  lion,  Nausicaa  alone  standing  fast,  for  she 
had  a  princely  nature,  and  could  guess  that  the  destitute 
stranger  meant  her  no  harm. 

Slenderly  graceful  like  a  palm  tree,  she  stood,  then, 
to  listen  while,  accosting  her  with  as  much  reverence  as  if 
she  were  a  goddess — and  so  indeed  she  seemed  to  him  by 
her  pitiful  looks — Odysseus  told  his  tale  of  twenty  days 
spent  on  the  sea  that  had  flung  him  at  last  to  shore,  and 
besought  her  for  any  scrap  or  wrap  of  clothing  she  had  to 
spare,  and  for  guidance  to  the  nearest  town,  if  she  wished 
heaven  to  grant  her  a  good  husband  and  a  happy  home. 


326    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

Soon  made  sure  that  this  was  no  fierce  ruffian,  but 
an  honest  man  in  distress,  Nausicaa  answered  him  kindly, 
calling  back  her  maids,  with  orders  to  bring  him  a 
shirt  and  a  cloak  and  a  cruse  of  oil.  With  these,  going 
a  little  apart,  he  washed  off  the  ooze  and  slime  from 
his  limbs;  and  when  he  had  anointed  and  dressed  him- 
self he  looked  another  man,  of  whom  Nausicaa  thought 
she  would  wish  no  goodlier  for  her  spouse.  But  now 
modesty  and  the  fear  of  scandalous  tongues  prompted 
her  not  to  be  seen  in  company  with  so  handsome  a 
foreigner.  The  clean  clothes  having  been  packed  up, 
while  Odysseus  was  refreshed  with  meat  and  drink  from 
her  store,  she  bid  him  then  follow  the  wagon  that  would 
show  him  the  way  to  her  father's  house. 

Thus  guided,  he  entered  the  walled  city  of  the  Phaea- 
cians,  wondering  at  its  greatness  and  its  busy  harbour; 
still  more,  when  Pallas,  in  the  shape  of  a  little  girl,  led 
him  to  the  palace  gate  of  the  king.  Never  in  all  his 
wanderings  had  he  seen  such  magnificence  I 

"  Resplendent  as  the  moon,  or  solar  light, 
Alcinous'  palace  awed  the  o'erdazzled  sight. 
On  to  its  last  recess,  a  brazen  wall 
That  from  the  threshold  stretch'd,  illumined  all; 
Round  it  of  azure  steel  a  cornice  roll'd, 
And  every  gate,  that  closed  the  palace,  gold. 
The  brazen  threshold  golden  pillars  bore, 
A  golden  ringlet  glitter'd  on  the  door. 
The  lintel  silver,  and  to  guard  his  gate. 
Dogs  in  a  row,  each  side,  were  seen  to  wait, 
In  gold  and  silver  wrought,  by  Vulcan  made. 
Immortal  as  the  god,  and  undecay'd. 
From  the  far  threshold,  to  its  last  retreat. 
Ranged  round  the  wall,  rose  many  a  lofty  seat. 
With  fine-spun  carpets  strew'd,  by  virgins  wrought. 
Where,  as  each  newborn  day  new  pleasures  brought. 
Phaeacia's  chiefs,  from  thought  and  care  released. 
Sat  throned,  and  lengthen'd  the  perpetual  feast. 


NEW   FRIENDS   IN   NEED  327 

Stood  on  bright  altars  golden  youths,  whose  hands 
Lit  through  the  night  the  guests  with  flaming  brands.: 
And  fifty  maids  administering  around, 
Some,  the  ripe  grain  beneath  the  millstone  ground> 
Some  whirl'd  the  distaff,  and  the  fleeces  wove 
Swift  as  the  leaves  that  shake  the  poplar  grove: 
And  ever  as  they  plied  their  radiant  toil, 
The  glossy  web  shone  like  transparent  oil. 
Nor  less  expert  their  course  the  seamen  kept, 
Than  through  the  loom  the  female  shuttle  swept, 
The  gift  of  Pallas,  who  had  there  combined 
The  skilful  hand  with  the  inventive  mind. 
Without  the  court,  yet  nigh  the  city's  bound, 
A  garden  bloom'd,  four-acred,  wall'd  around; 
Tall  trees  there  grew,  the  red  pomegranate  there. 
Each  glossy  apple,  and  each  juicy  pear, 
Sweet  figs,  and  living  olives:  none  decayed 
Or  in  the  summer  blaze,  or  winter  shade; 
While  western  winds  unfolding  every  flower, 
Here  gemm'd  with  buds  the  branch,  there  fill'd  with  fruits  th« 
bower,"  — Sotheby. 

For  a  little,  Odysseus  stood  abashed  on  the  brazen 
threshold,  hardly  venturing  to  enter  so  sumptuous  an 
abode,  for  Nausicaa,  driving  on  ahead,  had  taken  herself 
off  to  the  women's  chambers.  But,  encouraged  by  the 
advice  she  had  given  him,  he  passed  in,  then  on  to  the 
hall  where  Alcinous  was  banqueting  with  his  lords.  For 
the  queen  Arete  he  made,  and  bowing  before  her,  clasped 
her  knees  with  a  humble  entreaty  for  succour  to  a  man  in 
sore  need.  This  done,  he  sat  down  in  the  ashes  by  the 
hearth,  as  became  a  suppliant. 

Astonished  by  his  sudden  appearance  among  them, 
the  guests  stared  upon  him  in  silence,  till  one  of  the 
oldest  spoke  to  remind  the  king  what  was  due  to  mis- 
fortune. Thus  prompted,  Alcinous  rose  to  give  the 
stranger  his  hand  and  lead  him  to  a  seat  of  honour, 
where  food  and  wine  were  quickly  set  before  him,  and 


328     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

a  silver  bowl  into  which  from  a  golden  ewer  one  of  the 
serving  maids  poured  clear  water  to  lave  his  fingers. 

This  king  and  his  people  were  so  hospitable  to  a 
guest,  as  remembering  how  they  might  entertain  some 
god  unawares.  They  did  not  much  trouble  the  cast- 
away with  questions  while  he  ate  and  drank  heartily  after 
his  long  fast ;  yet  before  being  shown  to  a  snug  bed 
outside  the  hall,  he  told  the  king  and  queen  of  his  ship- 
wreck, and  how  he  had  been  found  destitute  on  the 
shore  by  Nausicaa.  Arete  had  guessed  something  of 
this  when  she  recognized  the  clothes  he  wore  as  the 
work  of  her  own  looms.  All  he  begged  now  was  to 
be  sent  home  across  the  sea,  to  which  Alcinous  readily 
agreed  without  even  asking  his  name  or  country,  for  the 
Phaeacians  were  so  skilled  mariners  that  it  would  be  easy 
for  them  to  steer  to  any  point. 

Next  day,  while  a  ship  was  being  fitted  out  for  him, 
Alcinous  and  his  lords  did  their  best  to  entertain  the 
stranger.  The  more  he  saw  of  him  the  more  the  king 
liked  his  guest's  looks ;  now  that  he  was  rested  and 
refreshed,  Odysseus  had  such  a  stately  mien  that  he 
might  well  be  taken  for  a  king,  if  not  for  a  disguised 
god.  When,  still  keeping  his  name  secret,  he  declared 
himself  only  a  mortal  man,  Alcinous  pressed  him  to  stay 
in  Scheria,  as  his  son-in-law,  if  he  chose;  nor  was  the 
modest  Nausicaa  loath  to  have  him  for  a  husband;  but 
all  the  hero's  mind  was  set  on  home,  and  the  Phaeacians 
had  too  much  courtesy  to  keep  him  against  his  will. 

At  the  games  held  in  his  honour,  the  stranger  would 
have  been  content  to  look  on ;  but  when  rudely  chal- 
lenged by  the  best  Phaeacian  athlete,  he  caught  up  a  quoit 
of  extraordinary  size  and  hurled  it  far  beyond  the  mark 
of  any  other  competitor.  Warmed  by  such  easy  victory, 
he  even  began  to  boast,  offering  to  box  or  wrestle  or 


NEW   FRIENDS   IN   NEED  329 

shoot  with  any  of  them,  except  the  king's  son,  with  whom, 
as  his  host,  he  did  not  care  to  contend;  only,  he  granted, 
they  could  beat  him  at  running,  since  his  legs  were  still 
weak  and  stiff  from  the  sea.  Wondering  what  champion 
this  might  be,  the  Phaeacians  spoke  no  more  of  matching 
themselves  against  him.  Indeed  they  were  not  so  good 
at  feats  of  strength  as  at  singing  and  dancing  and  the 
like  diversion,  fonder  of  feasting,  too,  than  of  rough  frays. 

After  the  games  came  a  banquet,  when  the  blind  bard 
Demodocus  was  fetched  to  spice  the  fare  with  songs  of 
love,  such  as  the  idle  Phaeacians  heard  gladly ;  but  their 
unknown  guest,  sending  him  a  mess  of  meat  from  his 
place,  bespoke  in  turn  the  tale  of  Troy's  fall.  That, 
then,  the  bard  sang  so  stirringly,  and  so  loudly  extolled 
the  son  of  Laertes,  as  first  among  heroes  of  fame,  that 
Odysseus  could  not  keep  back  his  tears.  Alcinous,  sitting 
beside  him,  noted  how  he  turned  his  head  to  weep;  then 
this  kindly  host  cut  short  the  song  that  moved  in  his 
guest  such  painful  memories. 

"Who  and  whence  art  thou,  to  grieve  for  the  fate 
of  Troy.^"  he  asked;  and  the  answer  was — ■ 

"  1  am  Odysseus." 

Amazed  were  the  king  and  his  lords  to  hear  how  this 
needy  stranger,  who  had  sat  silent  among  them,  was  no 
other  than  that  illustrious  hero  vanished  for  years  from 
the  knowledge  of  men.  Eagerly  they  sought  to  learn 
all  that  had  befallen  him  through  those  weary  years;  and 
half  the  night  he  kept  them  listening  to  a  tale  of  adven- 
tures that  would  make  matter  for  many  minstrels. 

But  now  it  seemed  as  if  his  troubles  were  indeed  near 
an  end.  For  if  the  Phaeacians  had  been  friendly  and 
serviceable  to  the  nameless  castaway,  they  had  nothing 
too  good  for  the  renowned  warrior.  Already  they  had 
given  him  bounteous  gifts;  and  furthermore  at  the  king's 


330    THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

bidding  they  heaped  up  for  him  a  treasure  of  gold  and 
bronze  vessels  and  goodly  raiment,  to  be  loaded  upon 
the  ship  that  should  bear  him  home  without  delay. 
Alcinous  himself  visited  it  to  see  everything  made  taut 
and  trim.  Once  more  the  guest  was  royally  entertained 
with  feast  and  song;  but  all  day  his  eyes  turned  to  the 
sun,  as  if  to  speed  its  setting,  for  no  tired  ploughman 
ever  longed  so  much  to  come  to  an  end  of  his  furrows. 
And  when  darkness  gave  signal  for  departure,  over  a 
farewell  cup  he  invoked  blessings  on  Alcinous  and  his 
people,  then  joyfully  went  down  to  the  harbour  to  get 
on  board.  The  sailors  spread  a  soft  couch  for  him  in 
the  stern  that  he  might  sleep  out  the  short  voyage  to 
Ithaca.  No  sooner  had  they  loosed  their  hawser  and 
dipped  their  oars  in  the  gleaming  siirf,  than  the  island- 
born  chief  was  rocked  into  a  deep  slumber,  and  knew 
not  how 

"  As  all  together  dash  four  stallions  over  the  plains 
At  the  touch  of  the  whistling  lash,  at  the  toss  of  the  glancing  reins, 
And  they  bound  through  the  air,  and  they  fly,  as  upborne  on  the 

wings  of  the  wind, — 
So  was  the  stern  tossed  high  as  the  good  ship  leapt,  and  behind 
Rushing  the  dark  wave  sped  of  the  manifold-roaring  sea; 
And  unswervingly  onward  she  fled:  so  swiftly,  so  surely  went  she, 
Not  the  falcon  could  match  her,  whose  flight  is  the  fleetest  of  all 

things  that  fly. 
So  fast  did  she  cleave  and  so  light  she  rode  over  the  waves  tossing  high, 
As  onward  the  hero  she  bore  who  in  wisdom  was  like  to  a  god. 
Who  had  suffered  affliction  before,  heart-troubles,  a  weariful  load, 
In  battles  of  warring  men,  and  on  waves  of  the  troublesome  sea: 
Yet  peaceful  slept  he  then,  from  their  very  remembrance  free." 

—j4.  S.  Way. 

Odysseus  had  not  yet  awoke  when  at  dawn  the  ship 
sighted  Ithaca,  its  shores  well  known  to  the  Phaeacian 
mariners.     The  crew  ran  their  prow  ashore  in  a  sheltered 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  331 

cove,  marked  by  a  sea-hollowed  rock  that  made  a  sacred 
haunt  of  the  Naiads.  Quietly  they  lifted  his  couch  to 
lay  him  on  the  sand ;  and  hard  by,  about  the  roots  of 
an  overshadowing  olive  tree,  they  piled  up  the  gifts  be- 
stowed upon  him  by  their  countrymen.  There  they  left 
him  still  sleeping,  while  they  rowed  back  to  Scheria. 

But  Poseidon  frowned  to  see  his  foe  thus  brought 
safely  home,  whom  he  had  meant  to  afflict  a  while  longer, 
though  it  was  the  will  of  Zeus  that  in  the  end  he  should 
reach  Ithaca.  The  sea-god  went  off  to  complain  to  his 
brother  how  those  presumptuous  Phaeacians  had  crossed 
his  purpose;  and  the  careless  king  of  Olympus  gave  him 
full  leave  to  punish  them.  So  he  did  by  turning  the 
ship  into  a  rock  just  as  it  was  steering  back  into  port; 
and  there  it  stood  rooted  in  the  sea,  like  a  mountain 
overhanging  the  city  of  Alcinous,  who  for  doing  such 
friendly  service  to  a  stranger  was  fain  to  make  a  sacrifice 
of  twelve  choice  bulls  that  might  appease  the  offended 
deity. 

IV.  The  Return  to  Ithaca 

When  Odysseus  woke  up  to  find  himself  alone,  the 
air  was  dark  with  mist  hiding  all  the  landmarks  of  his 
native  island,  so  that  he  feared  the  sailors  must  have 
treacherously  set  him  on  shore  in  some  strange  country. 
Even  when  he  saw  and  counted  his  rich  presents  laid  out 
safe  under  the  olive  tree,  he  could  not  believe  but  that 
a  trick  had  been  put  on  him.  As  sorrowfully  he  paced 
the  beach,  crying  out  upon  his  hard  fate,  and  upon  him- 
self for  having  trusted  the  glib-tongued  Phaeacians,  there 
approached  him  through  the  mist  what  seemed  a  young 
and  comely  shepherd,  whom  he  hastened  to  meet. 

It  was  in  truth  his  divine  protectress,  Pallas,  who  in 
playful  mood  took  this  shape  to  guide  him;  and  she  too 


332     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

had  sent  the  mist  to  conceal  his  arrival  from  the  enemies 
that  filled  his  home.  So  pleased  was^  he  to  see  anyone, 
that  he  saluted  the  seeming  shepherd  with  the  regard  due 
to  a  god,  begging  him  to  say  what  country  this  might  be. 

"  He  must  be  a  stranger  indeed,"  was  the  reply, 
"not  to  know  Ithaca,  a  small  and  rugged  island,  yet 
famed  as  far  away  as  TroyP* 

Glad  as  he  was  to  hear  himself  at  home  after  all,  the 
crafty  Odysseus  had  not  wholly  shaken  off  his  distrust; 
so  he  thought  well  to  tell  a  lame  and  lying  tale  of  how 
he  came  to  be  here,  deserted  by  dishonest  shipmates,  who 
yet  had  not  robbed  him  of  his  treasure. 

The  young  shepherd  listened  with  a  smile,  all  at  once 
vanishing  from  his  sight,  where  the  goddess  now  stood 
before  him  in  her  own  majestic  form,  and  laughingly 
reproached  him  for  his  crafty  shifts,  of  which  forsooth 
he  would  soon  have  much  need. 

In  reply,  the  hero  might  well  complain  of  her  fickle 
guardianship:  now  she  came  to  his  aid  in  one  or  another 
shape;  then  again  she  left  him  suffering  under  the  worst 
strokes  of  fate;  and  even  now,  for  all  he  could  be  sure, 
she  might  be  cheating  him  with  some  false  hope.  The 
astute  Pallas  explained  that  she  had  to  beware  of  offend- 
ing her  uncle  Poseidon,  whose  heart  was  still  hot  against 
Odysseus  for  blinding  that  one-eyed  son  of  his.  But  to 
show  herself  truly  his  friend,  she  blew  away  the  mist, 
then  at  once  he  could  recognize  the  familiar  scenes  of 
his  own  island,  falling  on  his  knees  to  salute  this  native 
earth,  with  thanks  to  the  sea  nymphs  that  had  wafted 
him  home  at  last. 

First  helping  him,  like  the  prudent  goddess  she  was, 
to  hide  away  his  treasure  in  the  Naiads*  cave,  she  sat 
down  with  him  below  the  olive  tree  to  let  him  know 
how  matters  stood  in  his  house,  taken  possession  of  by 


THE   RETURN  TO   ITHACA  333 

a  greedy  crowd  of  suitors  for  his  wife's  hand,  who  would 
give  her  true  husband  no  kindly  welcome.  Penelope, 
he  heard  with  joy,  was  still  faithful  to  him,  though 
she  had  always  much  ado  to  put  off  their  importunity. 
Telemachus  had  left  home  in  search  of  his  father,  and  the 
suitors  were  plotting  to  rid  themselves  of  the  heir  on  his 
return;  but  the  goddess  undertook  to  bring  him  quickly 
and  safely  back.  Meanwhile,  she  advised  Odysseus  to 
take  refuge  with  Eumaeus,  the  keeper  of  his  swine,  and 
thence  to  spy  out  the  state  of  his  enemies  before  reveal- 
ing himself.  The  better  to  escape  their  malice,  he  must 
be  transformed  as  a  lowly  beggar. 

"  She  spake,  then  touched  him  with  her  powerful  wand. 
The  skin  shrunk  up,  and  withered  at  her  hand. 
A  swift  old  age  o'er  all  his  members  spread. 
A  sudden  frost  was  sprinkled  on  his  head. 
Nor  longer  in  the  heavy  eye-ball  shin'd 
The  glance  divine,  forth  beaming  from  the  mind. 
His  robe,  which  spots  indelible  besmear, 
In  rags  dishonest,  flutters  with  the  air. 
A  stag's  torn  hide  is  lapp'd  around  his  reins. 
A  rugged  staff  his  trembling  hand  sustains; 
And  at  his  side  a  wretched  scrip  was  hung, 
Wide-patch'd,  and  knotted  to  a  twisted  thong. 
So  look'd  the  chief,  so  mov'd,  to  mortal  eyes 
Object  uncouth,  a  man  of  miseries; 
While  Pallas,  cleaving  the  wild  fields  of  air, 
To  Sparta  flies,  Telemachus  her  care." 

Thus  disguised,  Odysseus  took  a  rough  mountain 
track  that  led  him  to  the  spacious  pens  in  which  hun- 
dreds of  swine  were  kept  under  charge  of  old  Eumaeus, 
a  servant  ever  true  to  the  memory  of  his  master,  and 
full  of  grudge  against  the  usurping  guests  who  daily 
devoured  his  fattest  boars.  As  this  honest  swineherd 
sat  cutting  himself  sandals  out  of  a  hide,  a  loud  barking 


334    THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

hailed  the  approach  of  a  stranger,  on  whom  four  dogs, 
wild  as  wolves,  flew  out  so  fiercely  that  he  might  have 
been  torn  in  pieces  had  crafty  Odysseus  not  at  once  sat 
down  to  disconcert  their  onset ;  then  Eumaeus  rushed  out 
to  drive  them  away  with  stones. 

He  for  his  part  showed  no  want  of  kindness  to  one 
he  took  for  a  beggar.  He  led  the  unknown  man  into 
his  hut,  strewed  for  him  a  couch  of  rushes  with  a  hide 
laid  on  the  top,  and  made  haste  to  kill  and  cook  two 
young  sucking-pigs  to  set  before  him  with  barley  meal 
and  wine.  While  Odysseus  ate  hungrily,  Eumaeus  went 
on  lamenting  over  his  master,  whose  absence  kept  him 
poor,  and  abusing  the  suitors  that  consumed  the  pick 
of  his  herd,  so  that  he  could  do  no  better  for  a  guest. 
Odysseus  asked  that  much-missed  master's  name,  of 
whom  a  wanderer  like  himself  might  have  heard  some 
news.  Nay,  growled  the  swineherd,  he  had  heard 
enough  of  lying  tales  brought  by  beggars  from  all 
quarters,  seeking  Penelope's  bounty  on  pretence  of 
having  known  her  husband.  Let  who  will  believe 
them :  the  great  Odysseus,  the  best  master  that  ever 
was,  must  long  ago  have  made  food  for  fishes  or  vul- 
tures ;  else  why  did  he  not  come  back  to  set  things 
right  at  home  ? 

"  Not  so ! "  cried  the  beggar.  "  Poor  as  I  am,  1 
hate  lying ;  and  I  make  bold  to  swear  that  this  year — 
nay,  before  another  month  be  out — Odysseus  shall  come 
back  to  his  own ! " 

The  swineherd  shook  his  head,  like  one  who  had 
too  often  heard  such  promises ;  and  would  talk  no  more 
on  a  painful  theme.  Now  that  the  guest  had  supped, 
he  asked  his  name  and  how  he  came  to  Ithaca.  For 
all  his  professed  hatred  of  lying,  Odysseus  was  a  good 
hand  at  a  fable:  hereupon  he  told  a  long  one,  making 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  335 

himself  out  a  Cretan,  and  inventing  a  string  of  mishaps 
that  had  brought  him  into  slavery  and  cast  him  naked 
on  this  unknown  island.  In  the  course  of  his  adven- 
tures, he  declared,  he  had  heard  of  Odysseus  as  bound 
for  home  with  great  wealth.  Did  Eumaeus  still  not 
believe  ?  Let  them  make  a  bargain,  then.  If  Odysseus 
came  back,  the  swineherd  should  give  him  a  cloak  and 
shirt  and  send  him  on  to  his  own  home ;  if  not,  he  was 
willing  to  be  pitched  over  a  cliff  as  example  to  other  lying 
beggars. 

Heaven  forbid!  exclaimed  the  host,  that  he  should 
so  use  a  man  who  had  eaten  under  his  roof-tree.  And 
soon  again  he  showed  himself  as  hospitable  as  rough 
of  speech.  For  at  evening  the  under-herdsmen  came 
home  driving  in  the  grunting  and  squealing  swine  to  be 
shut  up  for  the  night ;  then  their  master  bid  them 
pick  out  the  fattest  boar  to  make  a  fit  feast  for  this 
stranger.  Before  they  all  sat  down  together  to  meat, 
Eumaeus  piously  burned  the  bristles  of  the  beast  as 
a  sacrifice,  praying  the  gods  for  his  lord's  safe  return ; 
and  when  he  cut  the  flesh  into  portions,  one  was  set 
apart  for  Hermes,  the  conductor  of  souls.  The  guest 
was  honoured  with  the  juiciest  slices,  and  made  a  second 
hearty  meal  with  the  rest,  before  they  all  lay  down  to 
rest. 

Then  crafty  Odysseus  again  bethought  him  of  a 
trick  for  putting  his  host's  kindness  to  further  proof. 
He  told  another  tale  of  how,  lying  before  the  walls  of 
Troy  one  cold  night,  he  got  Odysseus  to  send  one  of 
the  soldiers  running  off  on  a  message  to  the  fleet,  that 
he  himself  might  borrow  this  man's  cloak.  Eumaeus 
took  the  hint  to  lend  the  half-naked  beggar  a  warm 
covering  for  his  bed  of  skins  in  front  of  the  fire.  Out- 
side, it  was   blowing  and  raining,   dark  as  pitch ;   but, 


336    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

while  his  underlings  slept  under  cover,  the  keeper, 
wrapped  in  a  weather-proof  mantle,  and  armed  with 
sword  and  javelin,  spent  all  night  in  the  open  air,  to 
keep  good  watch  over  his  absent  master's  flock.  This 
trusty  fellow  was  a  slave  stolen  in  childhood  by  Phoeni- 
cian traders,  and  sold  to  Laertes  of  Ithaca,  to  whom  and 
to  his  son  he  showed  by  careful  service  his  gratitude  for 
kind  usage.  So  he  told  Odysseus  next  day,  when  the 
disguised  stranger  heard  of  his  old  father  as  still  alive, 
though  sorely  grieving  for  the  son  whose  disappearance 
had  been  the  death  of  his  mother. 

Still  playing  on  the  swineherd's  goodwill,  Odysseus 
talked  of  going  up  to  the  town,  presenting  himself  in 
Penelope's  halls,  appealing  to  her  bounty,  or  offering 
himself  as  servant  to  those  suitors  that  were  said  to 
be  eating  her  out  of  house  and  home.  As  if  such 
proud  lords  would  care  to  have  a  ragged  beggar  about 
them !  blurted  out  Eumaeus.  No,  no,  the  stranger 
could  do  no  better  than  stay  where  he  was  for  a  while ; 
times  were  not  so  bad  but  that  there  was  something 
going  for  an  honest  guest :  he  could  pay  his  welcome 
by  telling  stories  of  his  wandering  life,  till  Telemachus 
came  home,  who  would  be  sure  to  prove  openhmded 
to  a  man  in  need. 

And  Telemachus  was  not  long  in  coming,  having 
been  speedily  brought  back  from  Sparta  by  Pallas,  who 
also  warned  him  how  the  suitors  had  laid  an  ambush 
for  him ;  so  that  instead  of  sailing  straight  to  the  town 
harbour,  he  landed  on  a  lonely  shore  of  Ithaca,  and  on 
foot  made  first  for  the  swineherd's  hut.  Eumaeus  and 
his  new  friend  were  cooking  their  morning  meal  when 
they  heard  steps  without  that  did  not  set  the  dogs 
barking  as  for  a  stranger ;  then  at  the  open  door  stood 
the  form  of  a  noble  youth  to  bring  the  swineherd  to 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  337 

his  feet  with  cries  of  hearty  welcome.  He  kissed  his 
young  master  as  one  from  the  dead,  weeping  tears  of 
joy ;  and  the  first  question  of  Telemachus  was  whether 
Penelope  had  yet  been  forced  into  a  marriage  with  one 
of  the  suitors.  No,  Eumaeus  could  assure  him ;  she 
still  remained  shut  up  in  her  chamber,  mourning  ever 
her  absent  lord. 

Glad  of  that  news,  Telemachus  entered  the  hut, 
and  let  the  swineherd  take  his  spear.  The  ragged 
vagrant  would  have  risen  to  give  him  place ;  but  the 
young  master  courteously  bid  him  keep  his  seat.  When 
he  sat  down  to  eat,  waited  on  by  Eumaeus,  he  asked 
who  this  stranger  might  be ;  and  the  swineherd  re- 
peated the  tale  told  him  by  Odysseus.  Telemachus 
looked  grave  to  hear  that  a  needy  beggar  had  waited 
his  return  in  hope  of  relief.  What  could  he  do  for 
the  poor,  forsooth,  who  was  hardly  master  at  his  own 
house  ?  He  also  advised  the  man  not  to  go  near  those 
insolent  intruders :  let  him  stay  where  he  was,  and  Tele- 
machus would  send  down  some  food  and  clothes  for 
him. 

Eumaeus  presently  went  off  to  tell  Penelope  of  her 
son's  safe  return.  Father  and  son  were  left  together, 
yet  not  alone,  for  Pallas  stood  at  the  door,  visible 
only  to  Odysseus  and  to  the  dogs  that  shrunk  cowering 
and  whining  away.  She  beckoned  him  forth ;  she  whis- 
pered to  him  that  the  time  was  come  to  reveal  himself 
to  his  son ;  she  touched  him  with  her  wand  to  undo 
that  lowly  disguise.  So  the  grey,  hobbling,  toothless 
beggar  strode  back  into  the  hut  a  well-clad  stalwart 
form,  erect  and  black-bearded,  in  the  prime  of  life,  at 
sight  of  whom  Telemachus  cast  down  his  eyes  in  amaze- 
ment, uttering  a  prayer  as  to  one  of  the  gods. 

"No  god  am  I,  but  thy  father  so  long  lamented  1" 


338     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

So  spoke  the  hero,  embracing  his  son  with  tears  of  joy ; 
but  to  Telemachus  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true,  and 
he  cried : 

"  *  My  father,'  saidst  thou?     *  No,  thou  art  not  he, 
But  some  Divinity  beguiles  my  soul 
With  mockeries,  to  afflict  me  still  the  more; 
For  never  mortal  man  could  so  have  wrought 
By  his  own  pow'r;  some  interposing  God 
Alone  could  render  thee  both  young  and  old; 
For  old  thou  wast  of  late,  and  foully  clad. 
But  wear'st  the  semblance,  now,  of  those  in  heav*n!' 

To  whom  Ulysses,  ever  wise,  replied, 
*  Telemachus!  it  is  not  well,  my  son! 
That  thou  should'st  greet  thy  father  with  a  face 
Of  wild  astonishment  and  stand  aghast. 
Ulysses,  save  myself,  none  comes,  be  sure. 
Such  as  thou  see'st  me,  numerous  toils  achieved 
And  woes  sustain'd,  I  visit  once  again 
My  native  country  in  the  twentieth  year. 
This  wonder  Athenaean  Pallas  wrought. 
She  cloth'd  me  even  with  what  form  she  would. 
For  so  she  can.     Now  poor  I  seem  and  old. 
Now  young  again,  and  clad  in  fresh  attire. 
So  easy  is  it  to  the  Pow'rs  above 
T'  exalt  or  to  debase  a  mortal  man.' " 

— Cotvper. 

At  last  made  to  understand  that  his  long -lost  sire 
stood  before  him  in  flesh  and  blood,  Telemachus  was 
so  overcome  with  joy  that  they  might  have  sat  weeping 
in  one  another's  arms  all  day.  But  the  wary  Odysseus 
knew  that  it  was  a  time  for  deeds  rather  than  words. 
Hastily  telling  how  he  had  come  to  be  landed  on  Ithaca, 
he  questioned  the  youth  as  to  the  number  of  the  suitors 
who  were  vexing  his  wife  and  eating  up  his  substance. 
Alas !  Telemachus  told  him,  they  were  too  many  and 
too  bold  to  be  driven  away.  Leave  that  to  him  and  to 
the  help  of  the  gods,  quoth  Odysseus ;  let  his  son  do 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  339 

as  now  directed.  He  must  go  home  without  a  word 
of  his  father's  return,  even  to  Penelope.  Later, 
Eumaeus  would  bring  the  disguised  beggar  to  his  own 
house ;  then,  however  he  might  be  insulted  or  ill-used 
by  the  suitors,  Telemachus  should  bridle  his  feelings  till 
the  hour  of  reckoning  came. 

"  And  though  they  deal  upon  me  sore  despite, 
Even  in  mine  own  house,  let  thy  soul  forbear! 
Ay,  though  with  missiles  they  would  wound  outright. 
And  drag  me  from  the  doors  by  feet  and  hair. 
Calmly  look  on,  and  let  thy  soul  forbear! 
Yet  from  their  folly  bid  them  still  relent. 
And  strive  to  turn  them  with  a  gentle  prayer, 
Albeit  I  know  that  they  will  not  repent. 
So  surely  their  dark  hour  of  doom  stands  imminent." 

— JVorsley. 

By  and  by,  Eumaeus  came  back  from  the  house, 
where  Penelope  had  heard  with  joy  of  her  son's  return ; 
but  that  made  ill  hearing  for  the  suitors  when  they 
knew  how  he  had  slipped  through  their  snares.  The 
swineherd  was  not  yet  to  be  trusted  with  the  secret,  so 
Pallas  had  once  more  transformed  his  master  into  an 
old  cripple  in  rags.  Telemachus  spent  the  night  with 
them ;  and  next  morning,  when  he  went  to  his  mother, 
he  bid  Eumaeus  bring  the  man  to  the  town  to  try  his 
luck  at  begging :  he  himself  had  too  much  trouble  of 
his  own  to  look  after  poor  people.  So  he  said,  ex- 
changing secret  smiles  with  his  father,  whom  he  feigned 
to  treat  so  lightly. 

Soon  afterwards,  Eumaeus  followed  with  the  stranger, 
leaning  on  a  staff,  bearing  a  wallet  on  his  bent  back,  and 
to  all  appearance  a  right  mendicant.  As  they  drew  near 
the  town,  over  which  rose  the  high  walls  of  its  lord's 
abode,  they  fell  in  with  Melanthius  the  goatherd,  driving 


340    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

the  best  of  his  flock  to  feast  the  suitors,  whose  favour 
he  cared  for  more  than  his  true  master's  weal.  This 
rude  fellow  had  nothing  to  give  the  old  beggar  but  con- 
temptuous words,  even  fetching  Odysseus  a  kick  as  he 
passed,  which  the  hero  endured  meekly,  though  he  had 
half  a  mind  to  fell  the  churl  with  his  staff.  Eumaeus 
cried  shame  on  the  insolent  fellow,  who  would  have  to 
mend  such  manners  if  ever  their  master  came  to  his  own 
again.  Melanthius  answered  with  coarse  abuse,  declaring 
that  they  would  see  no  more  of  Odysseus,  as  sure  as  that 
Telemachus  would  soon  be  killed  by  the  suitors.  He 
hastened  on  to  join  the  revels  of  those  new  friends  ;  while 
the  other  two  more  slowly  approached  the  great  house, 
where  a  sound  of  music  and  a  savoury  smell  of  cooking 
showed  what  was  going  on  within. 

But  here  the  master  of  this  house  did  not  pass  un- 
marked by  one  old  friend.  Near  the  gate  lay  a  worn-out 
dog  that  pricked  up  its  ears  and  raised  its  head  at  his 
voice,  only  to  fall  dead  in  the  effort  of  crawling  forward 
to  lick  his  hand. 

"  It  was  Argus,  Odysseus'  hound;  himself  had  reared  him  of  yore; 
Yet  or  ever  his  pleasure  he  found  in  the  chase,  unto  Ilium's  shore 
Was  he  gone;  yet  the  dog  long  ago  with  the  young  men  wont  to  fare 
Through  the  woodland  pursuing  the  roe  and  the  mountain-goat  and 

the  hare. 
But  he  lieth  a  cast-ofF  thing, — for  far  away  now  is  the  king, — 
Where  in  front  of  the  doors  the  dung  of  the  mules  and  the  kine  from 

the  stalls 
Had  been  swept  in  heaps  and  flung,  till  the  time  should  come  for  the 

thralls 
To  spread  it  forth  on  the  tilth-lands  broad  of  Odysseus  the  king. 
There  lieth  Argus  in  filth,  all  vermin-festering. 
Yet  now,  as  his  dying  eyes  behold  Odysseus  appear. 
He  is  moving  his  tail  as  he  lies  for  joy;  he  is  drooping  the  ear: 
But  his  strength  is  utterly  gone,  and  he  cannot  crawl  more  near. 
And  Odysseus  looking  thereon  must  turn  him  away;  for  the  tear 


THE   RETURN  TO   ITHACA  341 

Sprang  to  his  eye,  but  he  wiped  it  unmarked  of  the  swineherd,  and  said: 
*Eumaeus,  'tis  passing  strange,  this  hound  in  the  litter  laid. 
Grand  is  his  frame,  yet  what  he  hath  been  I  do  not  know, 
Whether  fleetness  in  running  he  had  to  match  this  goodly  show, 
Or  was  but  as  the  dogs  that  be  pampered  with  dainties  from  feastful 

boards. 
And  are  nurtured  for  vain  fair-seeming  by  pride-uplifted  lords.' 
And  Eumaeus  the  swineherd  spake  to  the  beggar-king  and  replied: 
*  Of  a  surety  this  is  the  hound  of  a  king  that  afar  hath  died. 
If  his  frame  were  but  now  as  of  old,  and  his  deeds  as  the  deeds  of 

yore. 
When  Odysseus  left  him,  passing  away  unto  Troy-land  shore. 
Thou  wouldst  marvel  beholding  the  fleetness  and  strength  this  dog 

showed  then. 
There  was  never  a  beast  that  escaped  through  the  depth  of  the 

forest-glen. 
Whatsoever  he  chased;  for  he  followed  with  scent  unerring  the  track. 
But  evil  hath  compassed  him  now;  for  the  lost  will  never  come  back. 
And  the  heedless  women  folk  tend  him  not,  but  they  leave  him  to  lack. 
Yea,  thralls,  when  they  feel  no  longer  the  hand  of  their  lord  and  the 

might. 
Have  no  more  will  to  render  him  honest  service  aright. 
For  the  half  of  the  manhood  of  man  Zeus  Thunderer  taketh  away 
When  his  feet  are  caught  in  the  net  of  the  bondage-bringing  day." 

—IVay, 

When  they  entered  the  hall,  Eumaeus  was  beckoned 
by  Telemachus  to  a  seat  at  the  banquet,  while  Odysseus 
held  himself  back  near  the  door,  as  beseemed  the  humble 
part  he  was  playing.  There  his  son  sent  him  a  portion  of 
bread  and  meat,  which  he  ate  sitting  apart,  and  at  first 
passed  without  notice,  the  eyes  of  all  being  fixed  on  a 
bard  who  was  cheering  their  feast  with  song.  When  his 
strains  came  to  an  end,  the  old  beggar  rose  to  go  round 
the  table  with  bent  head  and  outstretched  hands,  not  so 
much  for  what  he  should  get,  as  to  test  the  disposition 
of  these  usurpers  of  his  home.  Most  of  them  gave  him 
something,  as  well  they  might  be  liberal  with  what  was 
another's,  so  that  soon  he  had  his  wallet  stuffed  with 


342     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

bread  and  meat.  But  Melanthius  the  goatherd  again 
reviled  him  and  the  swineherd  who  had  brought  him; 
and  Antinous,  the  most  insolent  of  the  suitors,  called 
for  him  to  be  turned  out  of  the  house,  where  this  man 
behaved  as  if  already  its  master.  In  vain,  with  a  sup- 
pliant whine,  Odysseus  stooped  to  flatter  the  haughty 
lord,  canting  forth  one  of  those  false  tales  of  which  he 
had  so  many  in  his  scrip,  making  himself  out  a  once-rich 
man,  who  would  never  in  his  own  prosperity  have  turned 
the  poor  from  his  door;  then,  taking  another  tone,  he 
went  on  to  upbraid  the  selfish  churl  who  grudged  him  a 
morsel  of  bread  not  his  own.  This  so  enraged  Antinous 
that  he  flung  his  footstool  at  the  beggar,  who  bore  the 
blow  without  moving,  and  went  back  to  his  place  at 
the  threshold  audibly  praying  to  whatever  gods  cared 
for  the  poor,  that  Antinous  might  come  to  the  bad  end 
of  one  who  despised  misfortune. 

Antinous  still  fumed  and  threatened,  heedless  of 
Telemachus,  sitting  in  silent  fury  to  see  his  father  thus 
used  in  his  own  house.  But  other  suitors  took  shame 
for  their  comrade's  rudeness ;  and  one  of  them  openly 
rebuked  him  for  so  serving  a  poverty-stricken  man,  who 
for  all  they  knew  might  be  a  god  in  disguise.  And 
when  word  was  brought  to  Penelope  in  her  chamber 
how  Antinous  had  insulted  a  suppliant  unTier  her  roof, 
she  too  was  indignant  at  such  a  breach  of  hospitality. 
Through  Eumaeus  she  sent  for  the  beggar  to  partake  her 
bounty,  the  more  readily  as  she  heard  that  he  professed 
to  have  known  Odysseus.  And,  just  then,  Telemachus 
happened  to  sneeze  so  loudly  that  it  resounded  through 
the  whole  house,  which  his  mother  took  for  an  omen  of 
good  news;  and  was  still  more  eager  to  hear  what  the 
stranger  might  have  to  tell. 

Odysseus,  for  his  part,  showed  no  haste  to  meet  his 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  343 

wife,  perhaps  as  remembering  a  warning  given  him  in 
Hades  oy  the  ghost  of  Agamemnon,  that  had  some 
cause  not  to  trust  woman's  faith.  He  excused  himself 
for  not  at  once  obeying  Penelope's  summons,  promising 
to  come  to  her  at  sunset,  when  he  might  be  able  to  slink 
unnoticed  through  the  crowd  of  revellers,  and  then  their 
talk  would  stand  in  less  danger  of  interruption.  For  the 
present,  while  Eumaeus  went  back  to  his  pigs,  he  himself 
remained  in  the  hall,  keenly  watching  those  enemies  of 
his  home,  all  unaware  who  was  among  them. 

Now  there  came  up  a  real  beggar,  Irus  by  name,  a 
greedy  drunken  braggart,  well  known  as  doing  odd  jobs 
about  the  place.  He  was  ill-pleased  to  see  another  of  the 
same  trade  here  before  him,  and  at  once  began  to  abuse 
this  stranger,  and  talk  of  turning  him  out.  Odysseus 
answered  that  there  was  room  for  both  of  them,  and 
that  the  other  might  not  find  it  so  easy  to  turn  him  out. 
Deceived  by  his  modest  speech,  Irus  grew  louder  and 
more  abusive ;  and  the  mischievous  suitors  egged  him 
on,  taking  it  for  fine  sport  to  set  these  two  by  the  ears. 
Antinous  laughingly  proposed  a  fight  between  them,  the 
prize  to  be  a  goat's  paunch  full  of  blood  and  fat,  which 
was  already  put  down  at  the  fire  for  supper.  The  jovial 
crew  would  not  listen  to  Odysseus'  protest  that  he  was 
a  broken-down  old  man,  unable  to  stand  against  a  sturdy 
young  fellow.  Well  then,  since  they  would  have  it,  he 
was  ready  to  fight  Irus,  if  he  could  be  sure  of  getting  fair 
play.  That  Telemachus  promised  him,  and  so  did  the 
rest. 

Irus  had  been  willing  enough  to  try  for  an  easy 
victory,  but  the  stranger,  stripping  off  his  rags,  disclosed 
such  sturdy  limbs  that  everyone  saw  he  could  make  a 
better  fight  of  it  than  had  been  expected.  The  more  the 
boaster  looked  at  this  stalwart  form  the  less  he  liked  it; 


344    THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

and  now  he  was  for  backing  out,  even  had  to  be  dragged 
by  force  into  the  ring  made  for  them  in  the  courtyard. 
Trembling,  he  stood  before  the  opponent  who  knew  that 
he  could  kill  him  with  a  single  blow  of  his  fist.  But, 
not  to  unmask  himself  by  putting  forth  all  his  strength, 
Odysseus  merely  knocked  the  fellow  down  so  that  blood 
ran  out  of  his  mouth,  and  he  lay  spluttering  and  sprawling 
on  the  ground  amid  the  brutal  laughter  of  his  backers. 
He  durst  not  again  stand  up  to  the  old  man,  who  dragged 
him  out  by  the  foot,  propped  him  up  against  the  wall, 
with  his  staff  in  his  hands  and  his  torn  cloak  hung  about 
him  like  a  scarecrow,  contemptuously  bidding  him  stay 
there  to  keep  off  dogs  and  pigs. 

When  he  himself  came  to  sit  meekly  down  in  his 
former  place  at  the  door,  as  if  he  had  done  nothing 
out  of  the  way,  the  suitors  were  inclined  to  treat  such 
a  doughty  beggar  with  more  consideration.  Antinous 
brought  him  the  promised  prize ;  and  Amphinomus,  of 
nobler  nature  than  the  rest,  gave  him  some  bread  into 
the  bargain,  and  pledged  him  in  a  cup  of  wine,  wishing 
him  better  fortune.  That  kindness  moved  Odysseus  to 
tell  the  young  lord  that  he  knew  his  father,  a  worthy 
man,  for  whose  sake  he  would  drink  to  him  with  some 
good  counsel. 

"Then  hear  my  words,  and  grave  them  in  thy  mind! 
Of  all  that  breathes,  or  grovMHng  creeps  on  earth. 
Most  man  is  vain,  calamitous  by  birth. 
To-day,  with  power  elate,  in  strength  he  blooms. 
The  haughty  creature  on  that  power  presumes. 
Anon  from  Heaven  a  sad  reverse  he  feels. 
Untaught  to  bear,  'gainst  Heaven  the  wretch  rebels. 
For  man  is  changeful,  as  his  bliss  or  woe; 
Too  high  when  prosperous,  when  distressed  too  low. 
There  was  a  day  when,  with  the  scornful  great, 
I  sweird  in  pomp  and  arrogance  of  state, 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  345 

Proud  of  the  power  that  to  high  birth  belongs, 

And  us'd  that  power  to  justify  my  wrongs. 

Then  let  not  man  be  proud;  but  firm  of  mind, 

Bear  the  best  humbly,  and  the  worst  resign'd. 

Be  dumb  when  Heaven  afflicts;  unlike  yon  train 

Of  haughty  spoilers,  insolently  vain. 

Who  make  their  queen  and  all  her  wealth  a  prey; 

But  vengeance  and  Ulysses  wing  their  way. 

Oh!  may'st  thou,  favoured  by  some  guardian  power, 

Far,  far  be  distant  in  that  deathful  hour; 

For  sure  I  am,  if  stern  Ulysses  breathe. 

These  lawless  riots  end  in  blood  and  death." 

Now  attention  was  withdrawn  from  the  old  beggar 
by  the  appearance  of  Penelope  in  the  hall,  who  came  to 
rebuke  her  son  for  allowing  such  a  disturbance  and 
letting  a  stranger  be  ill-treated  in  his  house.  Bitterly 
Telemachus  answered  that  it  was  no  fault  of  his:  what 
could  he  do  against  all  those  masterful  wooers  of  hers  who 
made  themselves  so  much  at  home.'^  Willingly  would  he 
see  every  one  of  them  served  as  Irus  had  been.  As 
he  spoke,  the  self-invited  guests  came  flocking  around 
her,  each  pressing  his  suit  with  flattering  compliments. 
Indeed  Pallas  had  for  the  nonce  made  Penelope  look 
more  beautiful  than  ever  in  their  eyes ;  and  Antinous 
spoke  out  for  the  rest  that  they  would  by  no  means 
take  themselves  oflF  till  she  had  chosen  one  of  them  as 
a  husband. 

"Alas!"  sighed  the  queen,  "care  and  affliction  may 
well  have  marred  my  charms;  yet  how  can  I  hold  out 
against  you  longer.?  My  dear  lord,  setting  forth  for 
Troy,  charged  me,  if  he  came  not  back,  to  keep  myself 
unwed  till  Telemachus'  beard  was  grown.  The  time 
has  come;  and  soon  I  must  choose  among  you,  though 
never  again  can  I  be  happy  in  a  husband.  But  yours 
makes  strange  manner  of  wooing.  A  suitor  is  bound  to 
(C288)  ta 


346     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

offer  presents,  rather  than  to  live  riotously  at  the  expense 
of  her  he  loves." 

At  this  reproach  the  aspirants  to  her  hand  were  eager 
to  vie  with  one  another  in  generosity.  Each  sent  his 
servant  for  some  precious  gift  to  lay  before  her,  one 
offering  a  richly  embroidered  garment,  one  a  string  of 
amber  beads,  one  a  pair  of  glittering  ear-rings,  another 
a  costly  necklace,  and  so  forth.  Penelope  had  all  their 
presents  taken  up  to  her  chamber,  to  which  she  presently 
retired  without  noticing  the  beggar,  who  chuckled  to  see 
how  his  prudent  wife  had  the  art  to  spoil  those  spoilers. 

When  she  was  gone,  the  suitors  fell  to  singing  and 
dancing  by  torchlight;  and  Odysseus  was  content  to  hold 
the  torches  for  them  in  his  own  hall,  still  mocked  and 
insulted  by  the  lusty  revellers.  One  of  them,  Eury- 
machus,  scornfully  asked  what  work  he  could  do,  and 
if  he  were  too  lazy  to  take  a  servant's  place,  instead  of 
strolling  about  the  country  as  a  useless  beggar.  To  this 
the  hero  boldly  replied — 

"  I  wish,  at  any  work  we  two  were  tried, 
In  height  of  spring-time,  when  heaven's  lights  are  long, 
I  a  good  crook'd  scythe  that  were  sharp  and  strong, 
You  such  another,  where  the  grass  grew  deep. 
Up  by  day-break,  and  both  our  labours  keep 
Up  till  slow  darkness  eased  the  labouring  light, 
Fasting  all  day,  and  not  a  crumb  till  night; 
We  then  should  prove  our  either  workmanship. 
Or  if,  again,  beeves,  that  the  goad  or  whip 
Were  apt  t'obcy  before  a  tearing  plow. 
Big  lusty  beasts,  alike  in  bulk  and  brow. 
Alike  in  labour,  and  alike  in  strength, 
Our  task  four  acres,  to  be  tillM  in  length 
Of  one  sole  day;  again  then  you  should  try 
If  the  dull  glebe  before  the  plow  should  fly. 
Or  I  a  long  stitch  could  bear  clean  and  even. 
Or  lastly,  if  the  Guide  of  earth  and  heaven 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  347 

Should  stir  stern  war  up,  either  here  or  there, 
And  that  at  this  day  I  had  double  spear. 
And  shield,  and  steel  casque  fitting  for  my  brows; 
At  this  work  likewise,  'midst  the  foremost  blows, 
Your  eyes  should  note  me,  and  get  little  cause 
To  twit  me  with  my  belly's  sole  applause." 

— Chapman. 

The  man  who  was  so  ready  to  rail  at  other  idlers,  he 
ended,  might  talk  big  among  those  that  knew  no  better; 
but  if  Odysseus  came  to  the  house,  its  wide  gates  would 
be  too  narrow  for  this  vaunter's  haste  to  be  off. 

Eurymachus  was  so  angry  on  being  thus  spoken  back 
to,  that  he  flung  a  stool  at  the  impudent  beggar,  but 
only  hit  the  cup-bearer  and  spilt  a  jug  of  wine,  while 
Odysseus  took  refuge  beside  Amphinomus.  The  up- 
roar was  now  past  bearing,  and  Telemachus  begged  the 
drunken  crew  to  have  done  with  it.  Amphinomus  backed 
him  up  in  declaring  it  time  for  bed.  So  after  a  parting 
cup  of  wine  and  water,  and  a  drink  oflFering  to  the  gods, 
they  all  went  oflF,  each  to  his  own  quarters,  leaving 
father  and  son  alone  together. 

No  sooner  were  they  unwatched  than  Odysseus  bade 
Telemachus  help  him  in  hiding  away  the  arms  and  armour 
that  hung  round  the  hall.  If  the  suitors  missed  them, 
excuse  might  be  made  that  the  bright  metal  was  begrimed 
by  smoke,  or  that  weapons  were  as  well  out  of  the  way 
of  men  like  to  fall  quarrelling  over  their  wine.  Only 
a  couple  of  swords,  spears,  and  shields  were  left  at  hand, 
ready  for  their  own  use  when  the  time  came.  This  done, 
his  father  sent  the  youth  to  bed,  he  himself  sitting  up  to 
talk  to  Penelope. 

All  being  at  last  quiet,  Penelope  came  down  into  the 
hall  with  her  maids,  who  cleared  the  disordered  banquet- 
board,  and  made  up  the  fire,  beside  which  their  mistress 


348     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

sat  on  her  chair  of  ivory  inlaid  with  silver.  One  of  the 
maids  spoke  sharply  to  Odysseus,  and  would  have  turned 
him  out;  but  Penelope  rebuked  her,  ordering  a  seat  to 
be  set  for  the  old  beggar,  that  she  might  hear  what  he 
had  to  tell  of  the  husband  ever  in  her  mind. 

Strange  to  say,  sitting  with  him  in  the  firelight,  she 
did  not  know  that  long-parted  spouse,  nor  did  she  recog- 
nize his  voice  when  she  began  by  asking  who  and  whence 
he  was,  and  he  put  the  question  off  by  declaring  himself 
a  man  of  sorrows,  who  would  fain  not  recall  his  past. 
Yet  she  took  him  at  once  into  her  confidence,  explaining 
her  woeful  plight,  and  the  device  by  which  she  had  so 
long  warded  off  the  importunity  of  her  suitors,  weaving 
diligently  at  that  costly  web  but  by  night  secretly  un- 
doing the  labour  of  the  day. 

Glad  as  he  was  to  learn  her  faithfulness,  not  yet 
would  Odysseus  reveal  to  this  patient  wife  that  her 
widowhood  was  at  an  end.  With  his  wonted  craft,  he 
spun  a  story  of  how  he  came  from  Crete,  and  how  he 
had  there  made  acquaintance  with  Odysseus,  nor  did  her 
emotion  stir  him  to  betray  himself. 

"  She  listened,  melting  into  tears 
That  flowed  as  when  on  mountain  height  the  snow, 
Shed  by  the  west-wind,  feels  the  east-wind's  breath,* 
And  flows  in  water,  and  the  hurrying  streams 
Are  filled,  so  did  Penelope's  fair  cheeks 
Seem  to  dissolve  in  tears, — tears  shed  for  him 
Who  sat  beside  her  even  then.     He  saw 
His  weeping  wife,  and  pitied  her  at  heart; 
Yet  were  his  eyes  like  iron  or  like  horn. 
And  moved  not  in  their  lids;  for  artfully 
He  kept  his  tears  from  falling." 

—W.  C.  Bryant. 

Twenty  years  had  passed,  ran  his  tale,  since  he  thus 

*  It  is  hardly  needful  to  point  out  that  the  poet  has  not  our  insular  climate  in  view. 


THE   RETURN   TO   ITHACA  349 

saw  Odysseus;  and  in  proof  he  described  the  very  mantle 
that  chief  wore  and  the  gold  brooch  fastening  it,  which 
with  fresh  tears  she  could  remember  as  her  parting  gifts. 
But  quite  lately  he  had  heard  of  her  husband  as  on  his 
way  home,  well  and  wealthy;  and  he  called  the  gods  to 
witness  his  firm  belief  that  ere  long  she  would  see  the 
long-lost  one  restored  to  her. 

"So  may  it  be!"  sighed  Penelope;  "and  if  thy  good 
news  come  true,  it  shall  not  go  without  reward." 

With  that  she  would  have  bidden  her  maids  spread 
a  soft  bed  for  the  stranger;  but  he  laughed  off  all  such 
luxury  as  unfit  for  a  hardy  sailor.  No  maids  to  wait  on 
him,  unless  some  elderly  woman  to  wash  his  feet  I  Pene- 
lope gave  him  to  the  charge  of  Eurycleia,  the  head  of  her 
household,  who  put  him  to  confusion  by  remarking  how 
like  he  was  to  Odysseus  in  figure  and  in  voice.  This 
old  servant  had  been  his  own  nurse,  and  he  had  to  hide 
his  face  from  the  firelight  lest  she  should  know  him.  But 
as  she  was  bathing  his  legs  in  warm  water,  she  found  on 
his  knee  the  scar  given  him  in  youth  by  a  wild  boar,  a 
wound  she  herself  had  dressed  and  could  not  now  mis- 
take it.  In  her  surprise  she  let  his  foot  fall,  upsetting 
the  bath.  For  a  moment  amazement  tied  her  tongue, 
then  she  would  have  cried  out  her  master's  name,  had 
he  not  caught  her  by  the  throat,  drawing  her  close  to 
whisper  a  command  of  silence.  He  was  indeed  Odysseus, 
come  to  cleanse  his  house  of  its  foes,  but  on  pain  of  her 
life  she  must  not  disclose  him  yet.  The  joyful  old  crone 
promised  secrecy,  and  without  a  word  fetched  more  hot 
water  to  finish  her  task;  after  which  he  went  to  warm 
himself  at  the  fire,  taking  care  to  hide  that  scar  beneath 
his  rags. 

There,  before  she  left  the  hall,  Penelope  again  ad- 
dressed him.     She  told  how,  lying  in  bed,  turning  over 


350    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

in  her  sad  mind  whether  to  remain  true  to  the  memory 
of  Odysseus,  or  to  rid  her  son's  heritage  of  this  locust 
swarm  of  suitors,  if  she  let  herself  be  led  off  by  one  of 
them  as  his  wife,  she  had  fallen  into  a  dream  in  which 
she  saw  her  flock  of  fat  geese  scattered  and  slain  by  an 
eagle  swooping  from  the  skies.  Her  guest  readily  inter- 
preted that  dream  as  a  presage  of  Odysseus  being  at 
hand  to  harry  the  greedy  suitors.  But  she  shook  her 
head,  saying  how  false  dreams  came  through  the  gate 
of  ivory,  as  well  as  true  ones  through  the  gate  of  horn. 
Another  device,  she  let  him  know,  had  come  into  her 
mind.  One  of  her  husband's  feats  had  been  to  send  an 
arrow  straight  through  twelve  axe-heads  set  up  in  a  row. 
To  this  test  she  proposed  to  invite  the  suitors  before 
another  sun  set;  then  whichever  of  them  could  bend 
the  great  bow  of  Odysseus  and  rival  his  unerring  aim, 
him  she  would  take  for  her  new  lord. 

Let  her  so  do  without  delay,  replied  the  stranger,  for 
he  took  on  himself  to  say  that  before  any  one  of  that 
crew  could  bend  his  bow,  Odysseus  himself  would  be 
among  them. 

Penelope  declared  herself  so  pleased  by  his  counsels 
that  she  could  have  stayed  up  all  night  to  listen  to  him; 
but  sleep  was  needful  to  mortals.  Leaving  her  guest, 
then,  to  the  care  of  the  servants,  she  went  to  the  chamber 
in  which  night  by  night  she  had  bedewed  her  lonely 
couch  with  tears  ever  since  Odysseus  left  her  for  that 
woeful  war. 

It  was  long  before  Odysseus  could  sleep  on  the 
bull's  hide  and  heap  of  sheepskins  where  old  Eurycleia 
wrapped  him  up  with  a  warm  coverlet.  Lying  in  the 
silent  hall,  he  heard  outside  the  wanton  laughter  of  the 
maidservants,  debauched  by  those  insolent  interlopers ; 
and  his  heart  burned  to  understand  into  what  disorder 


THE   DAY   OF   DOOM  351 

they  had  brought  his  house.  He  could  hardly  restrain 
himself  from  springing  up  to  make  an  end  to  such  un- 
seemly riot ;  but  he  tried  to  keep  patient  for  one  more 
night. 

"  Bear  up,  my  soul,  a  little  longer  yet; 
A  little  longer  to  thy  purpose  cling! 
For,  in  the  day  when  the  dire  Cyclops  ate 
Thy  valiant  friends,  a  far  more  horrible  thing 
Thou  didst  endure,  till  wit  had  power  to  bring 
Thee  from  that  den  where  thou  did'st  think  to  die." 

— Worsky. 

And  as  he  tossed  from  side  to  side,  scheming  how  he, 
one  against  so  many,  should  avenge  himself  on  the 
spoilers  of  his  wife  and  son,  Pallas  stood  over  him, 
assuring  him  of  her  aidance,  and  shedding  the  balm  of 
forgetfulness  upon  his  fevered  eyes.  So  he  slept  that 
night  in  his  own  home. 

V.  The  Day  of  Doom 

That  night  Penelope  awoke  from  a  dream  of  her 
husband;  then  grief  to  think  that  soon  she  must  take 
a  less  worthy  spouse  made  the  house  resound  with  her 
weeping.  Thus  roused,  at  daybreak,  Odysseus  stepped 
forth  into  the  open  air,  and  lifting  his  hands  to  heaven, 
prayed  Zeus  for  some  sign  of  favour.  The  response 
was  a  peal  of  thunder  that  cheered  not  his  heart  alone. 
In  the  outer  court,  where  the  suitors  had  been  wont  to 
take  pastime  by  casting  quoits  or  hurling  spears  at  a 
mark,  he  stood  beside  the  mill  at  which  twelve  women 
were  kept  hard  at  work  grinding  corn  for  that  insatiate 
company:  one  of  them,  weaker  than  the  rest,  had  been 
up  all  night  at  her  task,  but  now  she  paused  in  it  to 
exclaim — 


352     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

"Thunder  from  a  clear  sky  is  a  lucky  omen:  would 
it  might  mean  the  last  time  those  tyrants  of  mine  are 
to  feast  in  the  house  of  Odysseus ! " 

The  hero  overheard  her,  and  took  her  words  too 
for  a  good  omen.  Now  sunrise  set  all  the  household 
astir.  The  maids  lit  the  fires,  swept  and  sprinkled  the 
floors,  wiped  the  tables,  and  cleaned  the  vessels  under 
the  eye  of  old  Eurycleia.  Some  of  them  came  out  to 
fetch  water  from  the  fountain,  while  menservants  fell 
to  chopping  firewood.  To-day  was  to  be  a  feast  in 
honour  of  Apollo,  when  it  behoved  to  have  every- 
thing of  the  best. 

Up  came  Eumaeus  driving  in  three  fat  pigs  for  the 
banquet;  he  greeted  Odysseus  kindly,  and  asked  how 
it  fared  with  him  among  the  rude  suitors.  Next  came 
Melanthius  with  his  goats,  who  still  growled  at  the 
beggar,  promising  him  a  taste  of  his  fist,  if  he  did  not 
go  oflF  to  beg  elsewhere.  Odysseus  bowed  his  head 
without  a  word.  More  friendly  was  a  third  cattle-herd, 
Philcetius,  who,  after  saluting  the  stranger,  guessed  him 
to  be  one  that  had  seen  better  days. 

"  Nay,  he  reminds  me  of  our  good  master,  who 
perhaps  is  wandering  about  in  like  rags,  if  he  be  yet 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  So  must  I  go  on  rearing  his 
cattle  to  be  devoured  by  a  crew  that  care  neither  for 
gods  nor  men!  I  have  often  thought  of  running  away; 
but  the  hope  holds  me  that  Odysseus  may  yet  come 
back  to  send  them  packing." 

"  Friend,"  murmured  the  hero,  "  I  vow  by  Zeus 
that  you  shall  see  Odysseus  slaying  these  usurpers." 

"  Gladly  would  I  lend  a  hand,"  answered  the  faithful 
herdsman ;  and  Eumaeus,  too,  prayed  that  he  might  see 
that  day. 

Telemachus,   having  risen  and  dressed,  still  feigned 


THE   DAY   OF  DOOM  353 

not  to  notice  his  father,  though  he  carefully  enquired 
from  Eurycleia  as  to  the  guest's  entertainment.  And 
soon  arrived  the  suitors  who  had  been  laying  their 
heads  together  to  kill  the  young  master  forthwith.  But, 
as  they  hatched  their  plot,  an  eagle  with  a  dove  in  its 
claws  flew  by  on  the  left,  and  this  Amphinomus  took 
for  an  unfavourable  omen;  so  they  agreed  to  spare 
Telemachus  for  the  present,  giving  themselves  up  to 
another  day  of  revelry. 

After  due  sacrifices  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  waited 
on  by  the  herdsmen.  Telemachus  had  put  his  father 
at  a  table  apart,  where  he  got  his  portion  of  meat  and 
wine  served  him  like  the  rest ;  and  to-day  the  young 
master  plainly  bid  the  suitors  know  that  this  was  his 
house,  in  which  he  would  not  have  a  guest  insulted. 
In  spite  of  such  warning,  one  ribald  fellow  named 
Ctesippus  jestingly  flung  an  ox  foot  at  the  old  beggar, 
who  ducked  his  head  with  a  bitter  smile,  and  it  hit  the 
wall.  Had  it  not  missed,  exclaimed  Telemachus,  he 
would  have  run  Ctesippus  through  with  his  spear:  let 
them  kill  him  at  once,  if  they  pleased ;  but  he  could 
no  longer  bear  to  see  his  house  turned  upside  down. 

So  bold  was  his  tone,  that  for  a  little  the  suitors 
sat  rebuked,  till  one  of  them,  Agelaus,  spoke  up  for 
the  rest.  If  Telemachus  were  so  anxious  to  get  rid 
of  them,  why  did  he  not  persuade  his  mother  to  choose 
a  new  husband,  now  that  there  was  no  chance  of  her 
seeing  Odysseus  again  ?  To  this  the  young  man  pro- 
tested that  he  did  not  hinder  his  mother  from  making 
a  choice,  but  neither  would  he  press  her  to  leave  his 
own  house. 

That  quarrel  passed  off,  for  the  suitors  now  grew 
warm  with  wine ;  and  Pallas  was  at  work  stealing  their 
wits.     They  took  to  mad  laughter  till  they  cried,  then 

(C288)  13^ 


354    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

In  their  bleared  eyes  the  meat  before  them  seemed  gory, 
as  some  dark  shade  of  coming  ill  fell  on  their  heedless 
hearts.  One  of  those  who  sat  at  table  was  the  seer 
Theoclymenus,  who  had  come  with  Telemachus  from 
Sparta,  and  he  suddenly  started  up  with  a  cry. 

"  *  What  is  the  fate  of  evil  doom 

Now  threatening  you,  unhappy  race? 
I  see  that  night  in  thickest  gloom 

Wraps  every  limb,  and  form,  and  face. 

"  *  Out  bursts  like  fire  the  voice  of  moan, 

Drowned  are  your  cheeks  with  sorrow's  flood; 
And  every  wall  and  pillared  stone 

Is  soaked  and  dabbled  in  your  blood. 

"  *  Through  hall  and  porch,  full  many  a  ghost 
Crowds  towards  the  mansion  of  the  dead; 
The  sun  from  out  the  heavens  is  lost, 
And  clouds  of  darkness  rushing  spread.* 

"  He  ceased,  and  they  with  jocund  cheer 
Into  glad  peals  of  laughter  broke. 
Eurymachus  addressed  the  seer. 

And  thus  in  taunting  accents  spoke. 

"  *  Mad  is  the  new-come  guest.     'T  is  meet 
Instant  to  take  him  from  our  sight, 
And  lead  him  to  the  public  street 
Since  he  mistakes  the  day  for  night.* 

"Then  thus  replied  the  seer  divine: 
*  From  thee  no  guide  shall  I  request. 
For  eyes,  and  ears,  and  feet,  are  mine. 
And  no  weak  soul  inspires  my  breast. 

"*Then  from  this  fated  house  I  go; 

Swift  comes  the  destined  vengeance  on; 
None  shall  escape  the  deadly  blow 
Of  all  the  suitors — no,  not  one.*  ** 

— Magifin. 

He  burst  out,  foreseeing  the  tragedy  at  hand ;  while 
one  of  the  youngest  suitors  sneered  at  Telemachus : 


THE   DAY   OF  DOOM  355 

"  Strange  guests  has  this  house !  First  we  sit  down 
with  an  idle  beggar,  then  with  a  fellow  who  sets  up  for 
a  diviner.  Let  us  ship  off  the  pair  of  them  to  sell  as 
slaves  for  what  they  will  fetch !  '* 

Telemachus  said  not  a  word,  but  kept  an  eye  on 
his  father,  awaiting  the  signal  for  action.  And  the 
suitors,  little  aware  what  a  supper  was  in  store  for 
them,  went  on  with  their  day-long  banquet,  till  it  was 
broken  up  by  Penelope's  appearance  in  the  hall.  She 
bore  the  huge  bow  and  quiver,  stored  away  for  years, 
that  had  been  given  her  husband  by  a  hero  of  old ; 
and  behind  her  the  handmaids  carried  in  a  chest  full  of 
steel  and  bronze  axes.  All  eyes  turned  upon  the  lady, 
who,  standing  by  a  pillar  of  the  hall,  her  face  hidden 
by  a  veil,  gave  forth  mistressfully — 

"  Hearken  to  me,  ye  arrogant  suitors,  who  day  by  day 
Afflict  mine  house  with  devouring  and  drinking  its  wealth  alway. 
While  my  lord  hath  been  long  time  gone:  and  through  all  this  weary 

tide 
Could  your  false  hearts  find  for  your  lips  no  word-pretence  beside, 
Save  this,  that  each  of  you  sorely  desired  to  win  me  his  bride. 
Come,  suitors — for  this  is  the  contest  appointed  your  wooing  to  end — 
I  will  set  you  the  mighty  bow  of  Odysseus  the  hero  divine: 
Whosoe'er  of  you  all  with  his  hands  shall  the  bow  most  easily  bend, 
And  shoot  through  the  rings  of  the  axes  twelve  ranged  all  in  line. 
Him  will  I  follow,  forsaking  this  beautiful  home  of  mine, — 
Dear  home,  that  knew  me  a  bride,  with  its  wealth  of  abundant  store! 
I  shall  never  forget  it;  in  dreams  I  shall  see  it  for  evermore." 

J.  S.  Way. 

With  this  she  bade  Eumaeus  set  up  the  axe-heads 
in  a  row,  as  he  began  to  do  in  spite  of  such  tears  as 
the  very  sight  of  his  master's  bow  brought  to  his  eyes. 
Antinous  jeered  at  the  swineherd's  soft-heartedness ;  but 
Telemachus  carried  out  that  charge  for  him,  proudly  then 
declaring  that  he  himself  must  be  first  to  make  the  trial. 


356     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

"  And  if  I  can  accomplish  it,"  quoth  he,  "  with  none 
of  you  shall  my  mother  go  away  from  this  house." 

Twice,  thrice  he  strove  to  string  the  stiff  bow,  but 
could  not  bend  it.  A  fourth  effort  might  have  hitched 
the  cord  into  its  notch,  had  he  not  been  checked  by 
a  sign  from  Odysseus,  and  gave  it  up  for  the  others 
to  show  their  more  manly  strength. 

It  was  agreed  that  they  should  try  in  turn,  going 
from  left  to  right  in  the  order  of  their  seats  at  table. 
And  the  first  to  take  the  bow  in  hand  was  Leiodes,  a 
priest,  the  gentlest  and  most  modest  of  the  suitors,  but 
no  man  of  muscle,  and  his  weak  arms  soon  threw  it 
down  in  despair.  Antinous  laughed  at  so  feeble  an 
attempt,  yet,  seeing  that  this  would  be  no  easy  task 
for  the  sturdiest  of  them,  he  called  on  Melanthius  to 
light  a  fire  in  the  court  and  to  bring  a  ball  of  lard,  to 
warm  and  grease  the  tough  wood.  But  for  all  they 
could  do  to  make  it  supple,  one  after  another  tried  in 
vain  to  bend  the  bow  of  Odysseus. 

Unable  to  look  on  unmoved,  Eumaeus  had  gone  out- 
side with  his  fellow  herd  Philcetius.  Odysseus  followed 
them  to  ask — 

"Were  some  god  to  bring  back  Odysseus,  are  you 
the  men  to  stand  by  him  against  those  spoilers  of  his 
house.''" 

"  Would  the  gods  gave  us  to  prove  our  fidelity ! " 
was  their  answer ;  but  they  stared  when  now  he  told 
them  that  he  himself  was  Odysseus. 

Not  till  he  pulled  aside  his  rags  to  show  them  that 
well-remembered  scar  of  the  boar's  tusk,  did  they  recog- 
nize their  travel- worn  master;  and  they  fell  upon  him 
with  tears  and  kisses.  But  this  was  no  time  for  idle  joy. 
He  charged  Eumaeus  to  see  that  the  bow  came  lastly  into 
his  own  hands,  then  to  shut  the  doors  of  the  women's 


THE   DAY   OF  DOOM  357 

apartments  and  keep  them  out  of  the  way,  while  Philoe- 
tius  was  at  once  to  bar  the  outer  gates  that  none  should 
escape. 

Followed  by  those  faithful  servants,  he  went  back 
into  the  house,  where  Antinous  and  Eurymachus,  the 
most  arrogant  of  the  suitors,  were  now  trying  in  turn 
the  ordeal  that  baffled  them  like  the  others.  Eury- 
machus showed  himself  overcome  by  shame  at  his  failure, 
but  Antinous  was  for  putting  off  the  trial  till  next  day. 
This  feast  day  of  Apollo,  he  weened,  were  better  spent  in 
drinking  and  making  offerings  to  that  heavenly  archer, 
who  to-morrow  might  grant  them  more  strength  and 
skill. 

As  the  wine  again  went  round,  out  stepped  that 
ragged  beggar,  demanding  the  bow  that  he  might  try 
whether  adversity  had  unstrung  his  sinews. 

"Is  the  fellow  drunk!"  cried  scornful  Antinous,  re- 
buked by  Penelope,  whose  will  was  that  this  stranger  too 
should  have  his  chance.  Thereupon  Telemachus  stood 
up  to  announce  that  he  only  had  the  right  to  say  who 
should  handle  his  father's  bow.  He  asked  his  mother 
to  leave  the  hall  and  keep  to  her  own  apartments  with 
the  women:  such  disputes  were  for  a  man  to  settle. 

When  Penelope  had  retired,  Eumaeus  was  for  bring- 
ing the  bow  to  Odysseus,  but  the  suitors  raised  so  high 
an  outcry  that  he  would  have  put  it  down,  had  not  Tele- 
machus hotly  ordered  him  not  to  mind  them.  The  bow, 
then,  was  given  to  the  beggar,  who  at  once  began  hand- 
ling it  carefully  and  lovingly,  turning  it  over  to  make 
sure  the  horns  had  not  been  worm-eaten  in  all  those 
years.  The  suitors  took  for  certain  he  could  make  no- 
thing of  it ;  but  to  their  consternation  he  strung  it  as 
lightly  as  a  bard  tunes  his  lyre,  and  twanged  the  tight 
cord  so  that  it  twittered  like  a  swallow  at  his  touch.     At 


358     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

that  moment  there  came  a  peal  of  thunder  overhead  to 
stir  up  his  heart ;  but  the  suitors  turned  pale,  as  the 
seeming  beggar  fixed  an  arrow  on  the  bowstring,  and 
without  rising  from  his  seat,  he  shot  it  straight  through 
the  heads  of  the  twelve  axes,  not  one  missed.^ 

"Your  guest,  Telemachus,  has  not  put  you  to 
shame !  '*  he  cried  exultingly. 

With  proud  glance  he  gave  a  signal  that  brought  the 
eager  youth  to  his  side,  sword  and  spear  in  hand,  while, 
as  if  by  magic,  the  beggar  stood  up  in  appalling  might. 

"  Then  fierce  the  hero  o*er  the  threshold  strode ; 
Stripped  of  his  rags,  he  blazed  out  like  a  god. 
Full  in  their  face  the  lifted  bow  he  bore 
And  quivered  deaths,  a  formidable  store. 
Before  his  feet  the  rattling  shower  he  threw, 
And  thus  terrific  to  the  suitor-crew: 
*  One  venturous  game  this  hand  has  won  to-day, 
Another,  princes,  yet  remains  to  play!'" 

Therewith  he  let  fly  the  first  deadly  shaft.  Antinous 
had  raised  a  cup  of  wine  to  quench  his  dismay,  when  it 
struck  him  on  the  throat,  and  he  rolled  over,  dragging 
the  table  and  the  meats  on  it  to  the  floor,  where  the  wine 
mingled  with  his  blood,  such  a  slip  was  there  between 
the  cup  and  the  lip.  The  other  suitors  started  to  their 
feet,  still  not  fully  aware  what  a  fate  was  upon  them  all, 
and  they  angrily  cried  out  at  the  man  who  had  killed 
their  comrade,  by  mischance  as  they  thought,  till  they 
heard  his  voice  above  the  uproar. 

1  Commentators  have  puzzled  themselves  over  the  shape  of  the  axe-heads  through 
which  this  shot  had  to  be  made,  whether  rings,  curved  notches,  the  gap  between  two- 
headed  axes,  or  what.  There  is  also  controversy  as  to  the  arrangement  of  the  house: 
we  may  best  conceive  of  the  banqueting  hall  as  a  roofed  space  or  cloister  opening  at 
one  side  upon  an  inner  courtyard  in  which  the  axes  were  set  up,  beyond  which  again 
came  an  outer  enclosure.  As  to  the  geography  of  the  poem,  savanti  who  have 
variously  mapped  the  hero's  course,  seem  to  forget  that  poett  hold  masters'  certificates 
to  navigate  seat  of  fancy 


THE   DAY   OF   DOOM  359 

*'Dogs,  did  ye  deem  Odysseus  dead?  Ye  have  wasted 
my  substance,  ye  have  debauched  my  servants,  ye  have 
sought  to  take  my  wife.  Now  shall  ye  die,  as  enemies 
of  gods  and  men!" 

At  the  very  name  of  Odysseus  that  trembling  band 
shrank  before  him ;  and  Eurymachus,  speaking  for  the 
rest,  would  have  softened  the  hero's  rage. 

"We  have  indeed  done  thee  wrong,"  he  confessed. 
"  But  Antinous  was  foremost  in  the  trespass  that  has  cost 
him  his  life.  Spare  us,  and  we  will  make  amends,  paying 
for  our  misdeeds  in  gold  and  bronze  and  oxen." 

"All  that  ye  own  is  too  little  to  make  amends  for 
what  ye  owe  me,"  was  the  fierce  answer.  "  But  I  shall 
take  payment  in  full.  Ye  must  fight  for  your  lives, 
forfeit  to  my  vengeance." 

When  they  saw  no  hope  of  mercy,  the  terrified  suitors 
had  to  stand  on  their  defence.  They  looked  vainly  for 
the  arms  hung  round  the  hall,  which  through  the  night 
had  been  hidden  out  of  their  reach.  Drawing  their 
swords,  they  caught  up  the  overturned  tables  to  serve  as 
shields,  and  rushed  in  a  body  upon  Odysseus.  But  their 
leader  Eurymachus  fell  with  an  arrow  in  his  heart ;  and 
when  Amphinomus  took  his  place,  Telemachus  brought 
him  too  to  the  ground,  transfixed  by  a  spear;  then  the 
rest  drew  back  to  take  hurried  counsel  and  to  look  about 
for  some  way  of  escape. 

While  Odysseus  held  them  in  check  with  his  arrows, 
Telemachus  hastened  to  bring  from  the  storeroom  arms 
for  Eumaeus  and  Philoetius.  The  traitor  Melanthius, 
having  stolen  along  back  ways,  was  doing  the  same  for 
the  enemy;  but  his  fellow  herds  caught  him  in  the  store- 
room, and  hung  him  helplessly  to  the  rafters  to  await 
further  punishment.  Odysseus  had  kept  on  shooting 
down  the  suitors  one  by  one,  so  long  as  his  arrows  lasted. 


36o    THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

They  fled  back  in  the  courtyard  as  far  as  might  be  out 
of  reach  of  his  deadly  aim;  and  he  took  his  stand  at  a 
postern,  their  only  way  of  escape,  soon  with  three  well- 
armed  men  at  his  side,  yea  four,  for  Pallas  appeared 
by  him  in  the  likeness  of  his  old  friend  Mentor.  Before 
long,  indeed,  she  took  a  more  shadowy  form,  soaring 
up  to  hover  above  the  fight,  warding  off  the  spears  of 
the  foemen  from  Odysseus,  or  flashing  dismay  into  their 
eyes  with  her  terrible  aegis. 

Still  outnumbering  that  little  band,  they  huddled 
together  at  the  farther  end  of  the  court,  like  cattle  tor- 
mented by  flies,  and  let  themselves  be  slain  helplessly, 
as  doves  by  vultures.  Leiodes  the  priest  fell  at  the 
knees  of  Odysseus  praying  for  mercy,  as  aforetime  he 
had  prayed  that  the  hero  might  never  return ;  but  his 
prayers  did  not  avail  him.  More  fortunate  was  Phemius 
the  bard,  who  pleaded,  nor  in  vain,  that  he  had  been 
forced  into  singing  for  the  godless  crew.  Medon  the 
herald  also  was  spared  at  the  request  of  Telemachus,  to 
whom  in  his  boyhood  this  man  had  been  kind,  and  he 
had  warned  Penelope  of  the  suitors'  plot  against  her  son. 
These  two  fearfully  clung  to  the  altar  of  Zeus,  but  the 
rest  lay  gasping  in  their  blood,  like  a  net  full  of  fish 
drawn  on  the  beach ;  and  Odysseus  went  from  one  quiver- 
ing corse  to  another  to  make  sure  that  they  would  trouble 
him  no  more. 

When  all  was  over,  he  sent  Telemachus  to  call  Eury- 
cleia.  She  found  her  master  ranging  up  and  down  like 
a  lion  over  the  prey ;  and  when  she  saw  the  ground 
strewn  with  the  enemies  of  his  house,  the  old  nurse 
raised  an  exultant  cry,  at  once  silenced  by  Odysseus — 

"Woman,  experienced  as  thou  art,  control 
Indecent  py,  and  feast  thy  secret  soul. 


THE   DAY   OF   DOOM  361 

To  insult  the  dead  is  cruel  and  unjust, 

Fate  and  their  crime  have  sunk  them  to  the  dust." 

What  he  sought  from  her  was  to  know  which  of  the 
servants  had  been  misled  by  the  suitors.  Of  fifty  maids 
that  made  the  household,  she  pointed  out  twelve  as 
unfaithful  to  their  duty  and  their  mistress.  These  he 
ordered  to  be  hanged ;  and  Melanthius,  too,  was  now 
put  to  a  cruel  death  for  taking  the  part  of  his  master*s 
foes.  Lastly,  the  executioners  washed  their  hands  and 
feet;  then  Odysseus  had  fire  lit  and  sulphur  burnt  on  it 
to  purify  his  house  from  the  reek  of  blood. 

This  done,  the  doors  were  unlocked,  behind  which 
Penelope  and  her  maids  had  been  shut  up  safe  from  harm. 
They  came  forth  astonished  to  find  the  house  cleansed 
from  its  plague;  but  not  even  yet  could  Penelope  be- 
lieve that  the  ragged  and  gore -grimed  beggar  was  no 
other  than  her  husband :  only  some  god,  she  thought, 
could  have  so  dealt  with  that  throng  of  oppressors.  In 
vain  Telemachus  besought  her  to  speak  to  his  father.  She 
turned  away  her  eyes  and  stood  dumb  for  amazement. 

Odysseus  bid  the  bard  Phemius  strike  his  lyre  to  set 
the  servants  dancing,  sounds  of  revelry  that  brought  a 
crowd  about  the  house  outside,  little  aware  what  had 
gone  on  within,  but  taking  it  that  Penelope's  wedding 
was  come  at  last.  Meanwhile,  the  hero  retired  with  old 
Eurycleia  to  the  bath,  from  which  he  came  forth  washed 
and  anointed,  in  goodly  clothes,  looking  like  a  god  in- 
deed, for  Pallas  had  breathed  over  him  an  air  of  more 
than  manly  beauty. 

Still  Penelope  was  hard  of  belief  that  it  could  be  her 
own  husband  who  sat  down  before  her.  To  try  him,  she 
bade  Eurycleia  bring  out  the  bed  of  Odysseus  from  his 
chamber. 


362     THE   ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

"  Nay,"  quoth  he,  "  there  is  no  man  living  can  move 
that  bed,  unless  some  god  aid  him.  For  I  built  this 
house  round  an  olive  tree,  and  the  stump  I  dressed  to 
be  the  post  of  my  bridal  bed,  as  is  known  only  to  me 
and  to  thee." 

That  proof  broke  down  Penelope's  lingering  disbelief. 
She  threw  her  arms  round  her  husband's  neck,  with  tears, 
kisses,  and  excuses  for  having  been  so  slow  to  own  him. 

"*  Frown  not,  Odysseus;  thou  art  wise  and  true! 
But  God  gave  sorrow,  and  hath  grudged  to  make 
Our  path  to  old  age  sweet,  nor  willed  us  to  partake 

"  *  Youth's  joys  together.     Yet  forgive  me  this, 
Nor  hate  me  that  when  first  I  saw  thy  brow 
I  fell  not  on  thy  neck,  and  gave  no  kiss. 
Nor  wept  in  thy  dear  arms  as  I  weep  now. 
For  in  my  breast  a  bitter  fear  did  bow 
My  soul,  and  I  lived  shuddering  day  by  day, 
Lest  a  strange  man  come  hither,  and  avow 
False  things,  and  steal  my  spirit,  and  bewray 
My  love;  such  guile  men  scheme,  to  lead  the  pure  astray.' 

"  Sweet  as  to  swimmers  the  dry  land  appears. 
Whose  bark  Poseidon  in  the  angry  sea 
Strikes  with  a  tempest,  and  in  pieces  tears. 
And  a  few  swimmers  from  the  white  deep  flee. 
Crested  with  salt  foam,  and  with  tremulous  knee 
Spring  to  the  shore  exulting;  even  so 
Sweet  was  her  husband  to  Penelope, 
Nor  from  his  neck  could  she  at  all  let  go 
Her  white  arms,  nor  forbid  her  thickening  tears  to  flow." 

-  -Worsiey. 

Much  had  the  so-long-sundered  pair  to  hear  and  to 
tell  between  them.  The  whole  night  would  not  have 
been  enough  for  the  story  of  twenty  years,  had  not  Pallas 
drawn  out  their  rapturous  hours  by  her  guardian  care, 
holding  back  the  fleet  steeds  of  Aurora  beneath  the  ocean. 


THE   END   OF   THE   ODYSSEY         363 

to  lengthen  the  night  after  that  day  when  Odysseus  came 
to  his  own. 

VI.  The  End  of  the  Odyssey 

But  not  yet  were  the  hero's  trials  at  an  end.  Next 
day  he  went  to  visit  his  aged  father  Laertes,  who  lived  at 
a  farm  some  way  from  the  town.  Odysseus  found  him 
working  alone  in  his  vineyard,  sorrily  dressed  and  bowed 
down  by  years  of  grief  for  his  lost  son.  Tears  filled  the 
wanderer's  eyes  to  see  him  so  woebegone;  yet  this  crafty 
man,  after  his  wont,  must  needs  play  on  broken  heart- 
strings by  a  freshly  feigned  tale.  He  went  up  to  the  half- 
blind  greybeard  with  a  story  of  his  having  met  with  his 
son  in  distant  lands ;  but  when  Laertes  piteously  lamented 
him  as  one  dead  and  gone,  he  could  not  bear  to  keep  up 
that  deceit. 

"  Know'st  thou  me  not  ?"  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms 
round  the  old  man's  neck.    "  I  am  Odysseus  himself!" 

But  now  Laertes  was  slow  to  trust  the  good  fortune 
despaired  of  so  long.  Not  till  his  son  had  let  him  see 
that  scar  of  the  boar's  tusk  would  he  believe ;  and  all 
doubt  left  him,  when  Odysseus  pointed  out  in  the  orchard 
the  trees  his  father  had  given  him  in  childhood  to  be  his 
very  own.  Then  Laertes  thanked  heaven  that  the  gods 
still  lived  to  do  justice  on  earth;  and  joy  so  worked  on 
his  withered  heart,  that  after  changing  those  mean  clothes, 
as  sign  of  mourning  laid  aside,  he  seemed  to  have  grown 
years  younger  in  an  hour. 

With  his  household  he  sat  down  to  feast  in  honour 
of  his  son's  return;  but  soon  the  merrymaking  was  dis- 
turbed. News  having  spread  of  the  suitors'  fate,  their 
kinsmen  and  friends  had  gathered  at  the  house  of  Odys- 
seus to  bear  away  the  dead  bodies  to  their  homes  in 


364    THE  ADVENTURES   OF   ODYSSEUS 

Ithaca  and  the  adjacent  isles.  Amid  their  lamentations, 
they  cried  loudly  for  revenge,  and  the  father  of  Antinous 
stirred  them  up  against  the  returned  hero  who  had  worked 
such  woe  to  them  and  theirs.  Others  spoke  for  peace, 
saying  that  the  dead  men  had  brought  their  doom  upon 
themselves;  but,  while  half  of  the  crowd  dispersed  to  their 
own  homes,  the  rest  hurried  off  to  fall  upon  Odysseus  in 
his  father's  house. 

At  the  noise  of  their  approach,  the  servants  of  Laertes 
flew  to  arms,  the  old  man  himself  donning  armour  he  could 
hardly  bear.  They  sallied  forth  to  meet  the  foe,  with 
Odysseus  at  their  head,  and  by  his  side  Telemachus  eager 
to  show  himself  worthy  son  of  so  brave  a  sire.  Already 
the  spears  had  begun  to  whiz  and  to  clang  upon  helmet 
and  shield,  when  Zeus  sent  a  thunderbolt  to  stay  their 
hands,  and  an  awful  voice  forbade  further  slaughter. 
Thereupon  Pallas  herself  appeared  in  the  form  of  Mentor 
between  the  hostile  bands,  who  at  her  command  dropped 
their  arms  to  make  a  covenant  of  atonement  and  goodwill. 

So  ends  the  story  of  Homer's  Odyssey  \  but  other 
legends  tell  of  further  adventures  in  which  the  hero 
vanished  from  the  sight  of  men.  His  death,  it  had  been 
prophesied,  should  come  out  of  the  sea ;  and  after  so 
many  wanderings  he  may  well  have  found  it  hard  to  live 
on  land  at  ease.  In  Hades,  Tiresias  had  enjoined  on 
him  a  penance  whereby  he  might  appease  the  anger  of 
Poseidon :  he  must  seek  out  a  people  that  never  saw 
the  sea,  nor  knew  of  ships,  nor  tasted  salt;  he  should  go 
among  them  bearing  an  oar  which  the  simple  folk  would 
mistake  for  a  winnowing  fan;  and  upon  this  sign  he  was 
to  sacrifice  a  ram,  a  boar,  and  a  bull  to  that  offended 
deity,  with  due  offerings  to  the  other  gods :  thus  he 
might  end  his  days  in  peace  and  honour. 


THE   END   OF   THE   ODYSSEY         365 

We  hear  nothing  of  how  this  penance  was  performed, 
but  only  that,  once  more  deserting  Penelope  and  giving 
up  his  kingdom  to  Telemachus,  the  bold  Odysseus  again 
sailed  to  tempt  fortune  on  unknown  seas.  Later  bards 
had  glimpses,  as  in  a  vision,  of  how  it  may  have  fared 
with  him  in  some  new  world  of  waters  and  enchanted 
islands.  Tennyson  imagines  for  us  what  must  have  been 
the  dauntless  and   restless  mind  of  such  a  hero  in  his 

shortening  days. 

"  My  mariners, 
Souls  that  have  toll'd,  and  wrought,  and  thought  with  me — 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads — you  and  I  are  old; 
Old  age  hath  yet  his  honour  and  his  toil; 
Death  closes  all:  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done. 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks: 
The  long  day  wanes:  the  slow  moon  climbs:  the  deep 
Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come,  my  friends, 
*T  is  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and  sitting  well  in  order  smite 
The  sounding  furrows;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down : 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
Tho'  much  is  taken,  much  abides;  and  tho' 
We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven;  that  which  we  are,  we  are; 
One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 
Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield." 

But  a  poet  strained  his  eyes  further  into  Odysseus' 
fate,  when  from  the  much-enduring  man's  soul  in  Inferno^ 
Dante   took  the   tale  how  that  venturesome   crew  had 


^66     THE   ADVENTURES  OF    ODYSSEUS 

safely  passed  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  on  unknown  seas 
to  come  in  view  of  the  highest  mountain  they  ever 
beheld. 

"  Joy  seized  us  straight 
But  soon  to  mourning  changed.     From  the  new  land 
A  whirlwind  sprung,  and  at  her  foremost  side 
Did  strike  the  vessel.     Thrice  it  whirled  her  round 
With  all  the  waves,  the  fourth  time  lifted  up 
The  poop,  and  sank  the  prow:  so  fate  decreed; 
And  over  us  the  booming  billow  closed." 


HERO   AND   LEANDER 

The  Trojan  land  had  tales  of  love  as  well  as  of  war. 
Who  has  not  heard  of  Leander,  bold  youth  of  Abydos, 
he  that  wooed  fair  Hero,  Aphrodite's  priestess  at  her 
shrine  on  the  Thracian  shore?  Many  lovers  sighed  for 
a  maid  fit  to  rank  among  the  Graces;  yet  she  smiled 
upon  none  but  Leander,  who  lived  at  once  so  near  and 
so  far  from  her  temple  -  dwelling  at  Sestos.  For  the 
strong  tide  of  the  Hellespont  rolled  between  them  night 
and  day ;  and  their  eyes  strained  across  it  to  catch  each 
other's  smiles  thrown  in  vain  from  Europe  to  Asia. 

But  all-powerful  love  can  find  a  way  over  the  wildest 
water.  At  the  close  of  each  day,  as  Hesperus  led  in  the 
stars,  Leander  stole  down  beside  the  Mysian  strand,  his 
eager  eyes  watching  for  the  light  of  a  torch  with  which 
Hero  nightly  beckoned  him  through  the  darkness  to  her 
sea-washed  tower.  That  was  signal  for  him  to  plunge 
into  the  waves,  swimming  swift  and  strong  athwart  the 
sundering  current  till,  guided  by  that  friendly  gleam,  he 
came  safe  across  to  rest  in  the  arms  of  his  Thracian  bride. 
When  dawn  spread  in  the  eastern  sky,  he  anointed  his 
limbs  afresh  with  oil,  and,  all  aglow  from  a  parting  kiss, 
swam  back  to  Abydos,  "  himself  the  pilot,  passenger  and 
bark". 

So  he  did  throughout  the  summer  weather,  night 
by  night,  and  all  went  well.  Then  came  rough  winter, 
bringing  clouds  and  chills  and  tempests,  and  alas! 

"  That  night  of  stormy  water 
When  Love,  who  sent,  forgot  to  save 
867 


368  HERO  AND  LEANDER 

The  young,  the  beautiful,  the  brave. 
The  lonely  hope  of  Sestos'  daughter. 
Oh!  when  alone  along  the  sky 
Her  turret  torch  was  blazing  high, 
Though  rising  gale  and  breaking  foam 
And  shrieking  sea-birds  warned  him  home, 
And  clouds  aloft  and  tides  below, 
With  signs  and  sounds  forbade  to  go — 
He  could  not  see,  he  would  not  hear. 
Or  sound  or  sign  foreboding  fear; 
His  eye  but  saw  that  light  of  love, 
The  only  star  it  hailed  above; 
His  ear  but  rang  with  Hero's  song, 
*Ye  waves,  divide  not  lovers  long!'" 

— Byron. 

That  Stout  swimmer  had  not  shrunk  from  the  roaring 
billows,  on  which  for  once  he  was  tossed  astray,  now 
dragged  down  below  the  black  water,  now  heaved  up  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  beacon  that  should  be  his  guiding 
star.  His  breath  failed  him ;  his  strokes  grew  feebler ; 
chill  spray  and  blinding  foam  hooded  his  eyes  bent  long- 
ingly towards  the  flickering  torch.  Suddenly  it  went 
out,  when,  through  the  howl  of  the  storm,  he  might 
wellnigh  have  heard  Hero's  exclamation  where  she  stood 
vainly  trying  to  shield  the  light  with  her  robe. 

Anxiously  she  watched  out  the  dark  night,  at  once 
hoping  and  fearing  that  Leander  had  not  ventured  his 
perilous  passage.  But  when,  by  the  first  gleam  of  day, 
she  looked  forth  from  her  tower,  it  was  to  see  his  white 
body  washed  upon  the  rocks  below,  and  the  sullen  foam 
stained  by  his  blood.  With  one  miserable  cry,  tearing 
off  her  priestly  vestments,  she  leaped  into  the  waves,  to 
die  beside  her  lover  and  be  united  to  him  in  fame. 


THE    LAST  WATCH    OF    HERO 
From  the  painting  by  Lord  Leighton,  P.R./l.^  in  the  Manchester  Art  Gallery 


CUPID    AND    PSYCHE 

I.  Aphrodite's  Rival 

Once  upon  a  time  a  king  and  queen  had  three  fair 
daughters,  of  whom  the  two  eldest  at  fit  time  came  to 
wed  princely  suitors.  But  the  youngest,  Psyche,  was  so 
wondrously  beautiful  that  no  one  durst  woo  her,  who 
seemed  worthy  rather  of  adoration.  Men  gazed  at  her 
from  afar  as  at  a  goddess,  and  the  rumour  went  that  this 
was  no  mortal  maiden,  but  Aphrodite  herself  revealed  on 
earth  to  show  her  matchless  charms  in  flesh  and  blood. 

So  eager  was  all  the  world  to  behold  this  prodigy, 
that  far  and  wide  the  altars  of  the  true  goddess  stood 
cold  and  silent,  her  chief  shrines  at  Cnidus,  Paphos,  and 
Cythera  deserted  by  the  crowds  flocking  to  strew  flowers 
under  the  feet  of  Psyche.  The  jealous  Aphrodite,  seeing 
herself  neglected  for  such  a  rival,  called  on  her  son  to 
avenge  her  with  his  mischievous  arrows. 

"  Inflame  her  heart  with  love,  but  with  hottest  love 
for  the  meanest  wretch  alive,  so  that  together  they  may 
come  to  poverty  and  sorrow ! " 

Young  Cupid  needed  not  the  kisses  and  caresses  with 
which  she  would  have  coaxed  him  to  such  an  errand. 
Ever  too  ready  to  play  his  cruel  tricks,  he  promised  to 
do  his  mother's  bidding,  and  flew  off^  to  work  harm  for 
Psyche.  But  at  the  flrst  sight  of  her  beauty  he  was  so 
amazed  that  he  dropped  on  his  foot  the  shaft  he  had 
made  ready    for  her,  and  so   became   wounded  by  the 


37C  CUPID   AND   PSYCHE 

enchantment  of  his  own  weapon.  Himself  unseen,  he 
loved  this  mortal  as  hotly  as  he  thought  to  make  her 
love  some  unworthy  man. 

"  From  place  to  place  Love  followed  her  that  day, 
And  ever  fairer  to  his  eyes  she  grew, 
I  So  that  at  last  when  from  her  bower  he  flew. 

And  underneath  his  feet  the  moonlit  sea 
Went  shepherding  his  waves  disorderly. 
He  swore  that  of  all  gods  and  men  no  one 
Should  hold  her  in  his  arms  but  he  alone; 
That  she  should  dwell  with  him  in  glorious  wise 
Like  to  a  goddess  in  some  paradise; 
Yea,  he  would  get  from  Father  Jove  this  grace 
That  she  should  never  die,  but  her  sweet  face 
And  wonderful  fair  body  should  endure 
Till  the  foundations  of  the  mountains  sure 
Were  molten  in  the  sea;  so  utterly 
Did  he  forget  his  mother's  cruelty." 

— W,  Morris, 

Meanwhile  it  grieved  Psyche's  parents  that  so  many 
came  to  wonder  at  but  none  to  wed  their  youngest 
daughter,  left  at  home  like  a  virgin-widow,  lamenting 
her  too  renowned  charms.  The  anxious  father  sought 
an  oracle  of  Apollo  to  know  how  she  should  find  a 
husband;  and  the  answer  filled  him  with  dread.  On 
the  top  of  a  high  rocky  mountain,  he  was  told,  he  must 
leave  his  daughter  alone  in  bridal  array.  There  should 
she  be  wooed  by  one  of  whom  the  very  gods  stood  in 
fear :  she  whom  men  likened  to  Aphrodite  was  worthy 
of  no  common  mate. 

Hard  was  it  to  part  with  their  daughter  thus ;  but 
her  parents  durst  not  disobey  the  oracle.  At  nightfall 
they  led  her  up  the  mountain,  with  a  wedding  train 
that  seemed  rather  a  funeral,  for  the  light  of  the  torches 
burned  dim,  and  the  songs  of  the  bridesmaids  turned  to 
dirges,  and  poor  Psyche  was  fain  to  dry  her  tears  with 


APHRODITE'S   RIVAL  371 

her  bridal  veil.  But  having  resigned  herself  to  this 
strange  fate  as  the  will  of  the  gods,  she  strove  to  com- 
fort her  weeping  friends.  The  top  of  the  mountain 
reached,  they  quenched  the  torches,  and  with  tearful 
farewells  left  the  maiden  alone  at  dead  of  night  as  if 
borne  here  to  her  tomb. 

When  all  were  gone,  Psyche  stood  shuddering  in 
the  chill  darkness,  so  full  of  fear  that  she  had  almost 
called  them  to  stay,  or  hurried  after  their  footsteps  while 
still  heard  on  the  mountain  side.  But  soon  came  a 
gentle  Zephyr  that  softly  wrapped  her  about  and  carried 
her  away  to  lay  her  on  a  bed  of  scented  flowers,  where 
all  the  rest  of  the  night  she  slept  oflr  her  sadness  and 
weariness. 

Daylight  awoke  her  to  look  round  in  wonder.  Close 
at  hand,  she  saw  a  grove  of  tall  trees,  through  which 
flowed  a  crystal  stream,  and  on  its  banks  stood  a  house 
so  noble  that  it  appeared  the  home  of  a  god.  The 
roof  of  costly  woods  was  borne  up  by  golden  and  ivory 
pillars ;  the  floor  was  paved  with  coloured  marbles,  and 
the  walls  glowed  with  pictures  inlaid  in  gems  and 
precious  metals.  When  Psyche  ventured  to  enter,  she 
found  vast  inner  halls  more  and  more  splendid  the 
farther  she  stole  on  tiptoe,  filled  with  treasures  from 
every  part  of  the  earth,  and  everywhere  lit  by  a  gleam 
of  gold  shining  like  the  sun.  And  what  seemed  most 
marvellous,  all  these  riches  were  unguarded,  every  door 
stood  open,  and  no  living  form  came  to  view,  as  she 
passed  from  chamber  to  chamber,  lost  in  astonishment 
at  the  wealth  of  their  unknown  lord. 

"  Who  can  it  be  that  owns  so  many  rich  and  beauti- 
ful things ! "  she  cried  out  at  length ;  and  soft  voices 
answered  in  her  ear,  though  as  yet  she  saw  no  human 
form. 


372  CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 

"  All  are  thine,  Psyche !  And  we  are  thy  servants, 
appointed  to  wait  on  thee.  Command  us  as  thou  wilt, 
and  it  shall  be  done." 

When  she  was  tired  of  wandering  through  the  palace, 
and  feasting  her  eyes  on  its  beauty,  Psyche  took  courage 
to  try  what  such  invisible  attendants  could  do  for  her. 
Having  refreshed  herself  by  bathing  in  a  bath  of  silver, 
she  took  her  place  at  a  golden  table  that  was  at  once 
spread  with  the  finest  fare ;  then  as  she  ate  and  drank, 
soft  music  arose  and  a  choir  of  sweet  voices  filled  the 
room  where  she  sat  alone. 

So  the  day  passed  by  as  in  a  dream ;  and  when 
night  fell,  she  would  have  lain  down  on  a  soft  couch 
spread  for  her  by  those  unseen  hands.  Now  was  she 
aware  of  a  shadow  by  her  side,  and  had  almost  cried 
out  for  terror.  But  her  fears  were  kissed  away  as  she 
found  herself  warmly  embraced  in  the  darkness,  and 
heard  a  voice  murmuring  in  kindest  tones — 

"Dear  Psyche,  I  am  the  husband  chosen  for  thee 
by  destiny.  Ask  not  my  name,  seek  not  to  see  my  face ; 
only  believe  in  my  love,  and  all  will  be  well  with  us ! " 

The  very  sound  of  his  voice  and  the  very  touch  of 
his  hand  won  Psyche's  heart  to  this  unseen  bridegroom. 
All  night  he  told  her  of  his  love,  and  before  daylight 
dawned,  he  was  gone,  since  so  it  must  be,  promising 
with  a  kiss  to  return  as  soon  as  darkness  fell. 

Thus  it  was,  night  after  night,  that  went  by  in 
tender  speeches  and  endearments;  yet  never  could  she 
see  her  lover's  face. 


THE   JEALOUS   SISTERS  373 


II.  The  Jealous  Sisters 

Psyche  rejoiced  in  the  love  of  this  husband  who  came 
to  her  only  by  night ;  but  sad  were  the  long  days 
through  which  she  had  to  live  alone.  She  soon  wearied 
of  wandering  about  her  splendid  house  that  seemed  like 
a  gilded  cage ;  the  daintiest  food  did  not  please  her 
so  long  as  no  one  shared  it ;  the  sunlit  hours  went  too 
slowly  by  in  sighing  for  the  darkness  that  should  bring 
back  the  joy  of  her  life.  In  vain  she  begged  him  not 
to  leave  her  by  day,  when  she  might  see  his  face. 

"  It  may  not  be/*  he  whispered,  and  sealed  her  lips 
with  kisses.  "A  dire  danger  threatens  thee,  if  thou 
shouldst  know  who  or  what  I  am.  Be  content  to  trust 
in  my  love,  that  is  ever  thine." 

Strive  as  she  might  to  be  content,  still  poor  Psyche 
pined  in  that  daily  solitude ;  and  she  besought  her  un- 
seen husband  to  let  her  have  at  least  a  visit  from  her 
sisters  to  cheer  her  in  his  absence. 

"  Dearest  Psyche ! "  cried  he,  "  I  fear  they  will  come 
to  do  thee  harm.  Already  they  seek  thee  on  the  rocky 
crest  where  thou  wert  last  seen  of  men ;  but  they  bring 
hate  and  peril  for  our  love." 

Yet  she  wept  and  entreated,  till  in  the  end  he  gave 
her  leave  to  see  her  sisters,  making  her  promise  to  tell 
them  nothing  about  himself.  So  next  morning,  when 
he  vanished  with  daylight,  the  same  Zephyr  that  had 
wafted  Psyche  to  this  beautiful  valley,  was  charged  to 
catch  up  her  two  sisters  and  bring  them  to  the  house 
in  which  she  lived  alone  with  invisible  attendants. 

Glad  was  she  to  see  them  again,  and  not  less  amazed 
were  they  by  the  riches  and  adornments  of  her  new 
home.     But  when  eagerly  they  questioned  her  as  to  the 


374  CUPID   AND   PSYCHE 

master  of  all  this  wealth,  she  put  them  ofF  with  short 
answers.  Her  husband,  she  said,  was  a  handsome  young 
prince  who  stayed  out  all  day  hunting  in  the  woods. 
And  lest  she  should  be  tempted  by  their  curiosity  to 
say  more,  she  made  haste  to  dismiss  the  sisters  with 
costly  presents  before  the  hour  that  should  bring  him 
to  her  arms. 

But  they,  filled  with  envy  of  her  good  fortune,  came 
back  next  day  set  on  knowing  who  could  be  that  great 
lord  so  much  richer  than  their  own  husbands.  With 
caresses  they  again  sought  to  worm  the  secret  out  of 
her ;  and  this  time,  forgetting  what  she  had  said  of 
him  before,  she  gave  out  her  husband  as  a  grey-bearded 
merchant,  whose  affairs  called  him  often  away  from 
home.  Nor  did  the  sisters  fail  to  note  how  she  con- 
tradicted herself,  so  letting  them  understand  she  had 
something  to  hide. 

Again  dismissed  with  rich  presents,  the  jealous  elders 
were  hotter  than  ever  to  know  the  secret  of  Psyche's 
marriage.  They  guessed  that  this  husband  of  hers 
must  be  no  mere  man,  and  enviously  railed  at  her  for 
making  a  mystery  of  his  real  name.  So  they  hatched 
a  plot,  of  which  he  was  well  aware,  for  that  night  he 
murmured  in  her  ear — 

"  Dearest  one,  beware  of  thy  sisters.  To-morrow 
they  will  tempt  thee  to  look  on  me ;  but  that  would 
be  the  end  of  our  happiness.'' 

With  tears  and  kisses  Psyche  vowed  she  would  rather 
die  a  hundred  times  than  disobey  his  least  wish ;  and 
when  left  alone  in  the  morning,  she  was  determined 
to  keep  her  secret.  But  soon  came  the  sisters,  who 
now  coaxed  and  threatened  her  by  turns,  till  in  her 
confusion  she  owned  to  not  having  told  them  the  truth. 
At  last   they  pressed  her  to  a  confession  that  she  had 


THE  JEALOUS   SISTERS  375 

never  seen  this  bridegroom  who  visited  her  only  by- 
dark  night,  and  that  she  knew  not  even  his  name. 

"Dear  sister,"  said  they,  "it  is  as  we  feared.  Be- 
lieve us,  who  are  older  and  wiser,  and  mean  thy  welfare. 
That  false  bridegroom  is  in  truth  a  loathly  monster 
that  durst  not  meet  the  eye,  lest  love  should  be  changed 
to  horror.  For  all  his  fair  words,  his  purpose  is  to 
devour  thee  secretly ;  and  such  will  soon  be  Psyche's 
fate  unless  she  act  by  our  counsel." 

"What  shall  I  do?"  cried  Psyche,  wringing  her 
hands,  for  she  believed  their  false  words,  knowing  not 
why  else  her  husband  should  remain  ever  unseen. 

"  Have  ready  a  lamp  and  a  sharp  knife,"  they  bid 
her.  "As  soon  as  he  is  asleep,  light  the  lamp,  then 
the  sight  of  the  monster's  hateful  form  will  steel  thy 
hand  to  drive  the  knife  to  his  cruel  heart.  Thus  only 
canst  thou  save  thine  own  life." 

Earnestly  urging  her  to  follow  their  counsel  without 
delay,  her  sisters  left  Psyche  tossed  in  mind  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea.  She  doubted  whether  to  obey  them 
or  her  own  heart.  She  at  once  loved  her  unseen  hus- 
band and  hated  the  monster  they  pictured  him  to  be. 
But  as  night  drew  near,  she  made  ready  the  lamp  and 
the  knife,  with  which  she  hoped  to  find  courage  to  save 
herself  from  the  threatened  destruction. 

As  always,  her  husband  came  home  with  the  dark- 
ness, and  after  embracing  Psyche,  lay  down  in  bed. 
Curiosity  now  aiding  dread,  she  made  up  her  mind  at 
least  to  see  what  shape  he  bore.  When  his  breathing 
told  that  he  was  asleep,  she  rose  to  light  the  lamp ;  then 
holding  it  up  in  one  hand  and  the  sharp  knife  in  the 
other,  she  stole  softly  to  his  side. 

A  cry  had  almost  burst  from  her  lips,  as  the  lamp- 
gleam  showed   the  sweetest  and   loveliest  of  monsters, 


376  CUPID  AND   PSYCHE 

Cupid  himself  in  the  bloom  of  youthful  beauty,  with 
ambrosial  locks  curling  about  his  rosy  cheeks,  and  snow- 
white  shoulders  on  which  his  wings  were  softly  folded 
like  flowers.  At  such  a  sight  the  knife  dropped  from 
Psyche's  trembling  hand.  Beside  him  lay  his  bow  and 
quiver,  whence  she  drew  out  one  of  the  golden-tipped 
arrows,  and  in  examining  it  pricked  her  finger,  instantly 
inflaming  her  blood  with  new  love  for  a  husband  no 
longer  unseen. 

Bending  over  this  sleeping  form,  she  would  have 
hastily  stooped  to  kiss  him,  when  in  her  agitation  she  let 
a  drop  of  hot  oil  fall  from  the  lamp  upon  his  shoulder. 
Roused  by  the  smart,  Cupid  sprang  up,  and  at  a  glance 
understood  all. 

"Ah,  Psyche!"  he  exclaimed,  "thou  hast  ruined  our 
love.  Why  listen  to  thy  treacherous  sisters  rather  than 
to  my  warning.?     Now  we  must  part  for  ever!" 

In  tearful  entreaties  she  sank  before  him,  and  sought 
to  clasp  his  knees ;  but  he  spread  his  wings  and  flew 
into  the  air  without  a  look  of  forgiveness.  At  the  same 
moment,  the  enchanted  palace  vanished  about  her  like 
a  dream,  then  Psyche  stood  alone  in  the  cold  darkness, 
calling  vainly  for  the  love  she  had  lost,  with  his  last 
words  ringing  in  her  ears. 

"  Farewell !  though  I,  a  god,  can  never  know 
How  thou  canst  lose  thy  pain,  yet  time  will  go 
Over  thine  head,  and  thou  mayst  mingle  yet 
The  bitter  and  the  sweet,  nor  quite  forget. 
Nor  quite  remember,  till  these  things  shall  seem 
The  wavering  memory  of  a  lovely  dream." 

—W,  Morris. 


PENANCE  AND   PARDON  377 


III.  Penance  and  Pardon 

Psyche's  first  thought,  as  she  turned  away  from  the 
scene  of  her  lost  happiness,  was  to  die  in  despair.  Coming 
to  a  river  bank,  she  threw  herself  into  its  black  water; 
but  the  pitiful  stream  washed  her  ashore  on  the  further 
side,  and  she  wandered  on,  hardly  knowing  where  she 
went.  She  passed  through  the  cities  where  lived  her 
sisters;  and  these  jealous  women  would  have  persuaded 
her  that  she  had  done  well  to  follow  their  advice,  since 
love  was  a  cruel  monster,  for  all  the  fair  shapes  he  could 
take.  Yet,  on  hearing  truly  how  it  had  gone  with  her, 
the  sisters  in  turn  stole  away  to  the  top  of  that  high 
mountain,  each  hoping  that  she  herself  might  be  chosen 
for  the  bride  of  a  god.  Far  otherwise  it  fared  with 
them,  when,  one  after  the  other,  they  were  caught  up 
by  a  strong  wind  and  dashed  to  destruction  over  the 
misty  cliffs. 

Meanwhile  Psyche  went  her  way  alone  through  the 
world,  everywhere  seeking  in  vain  for  her  vanished  love. 
He,  fevered  by  the  pain  of  his  burnt  shoulder,  or  rather 
by  the  same  grief  as  gave  Psyche  no  rest  by  night  and 
day,  had  taken  refuge  in  his  mother's  chamber,  and  lay 
sick  of  a  wound  he  durst  not  own.  But  a  telltale  bird 
whispered  in  Aphrodite's  ear  how  Cupid  had  deigned  to 
love  a  mortal,  and  hot  was  her  anger  to  learn  this  no 
other  than  the  very  maid  boasted  on  earth  as  her  rival. 

In  sore  dudgeon  the  resentful  goddess  tended  her  son 
with  rating  and  upbraiding.  She  threatened  to  take  away 
his  arrows,  to  unstring  his  bow,  to  quench  his  torch  and 
to  clip  his  wings,  that  he  might  no  more  fly  about  playing 
mischievous  pranks  on  gods  and  men.  And  though  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  punish  him  as  he  deserved, 

(C288)  t4 


378  CUPID  AND   PSYCHE 

all  the  more  eagerly  she  sought  out  Psyche  for  her  ven- 
geance. In  vain  her  sister  goddesses  strove  to  appease 
her,  making  excuses  for  that  wilful  boy,  reminding  her 
that  he  must  not  be  treated  always  as  a  child,  asking  who 
might  choose  a  bride  if  not  the  god  of  love,  and  why 
marriage  should  be  hateful  in  her  family  of  all  others. 

Their  jests  but  stirred  the  mother  of  Cupid  to  direr 
wrath.  By  leave  of  Zeus,  she  sent  down  Hermes  to  pro- 
claim through  the  world  that  whoever  sheltered  Psyche 
should  be  punished  as  an  enemy  to  the  gods,  but  seven 
kisses  from  Aphrodite  herself  were  offered  as  reward  to 
whoever  gave  her  up.  This  proclamation  reached  poor 
Psyche's  own  ears,  when,  tired  of  the  bootless  search 
for  her  husband,  she  was  ready  to  throw  herself  on  his 
mother's  mercy;  and,  going  from  one  temple  to  another, 
some  kinder  goddess  gave  her  counsel  to  seek  forgiveness 
at  the  queen  of  Love's.  Having  none  other  refuge  in 
her  hapless  plight,  as  a  humble  suppliant  she  approached 
the  halls  of  Aphrodite,  where  she  had  no  sooner  told  her 
name  than  one  of  the  servants  dragged  her  by  the  hair 
into  her  mistress's  presence. 

"At  last!"  the  goddess  greeted  her  with  mocking 
laughter.  "At  last,  thou  comest  to  greet  thy  mother- 
in-law!  Or  is  it  to  visit  that  husband  of  thine,  that  lies 
sick  through  thy  hurting?  I  have  had  trouble  enough  to 
catch  thee;  but  now  thou  shalt  not  go  without  learning 
what  it  is  to  rival  Aphrodite." 

Tearing  her  clothes  for  rage,  she  gave  over  Psyche 
to  be  scourged  by  sore  tormentors  who  stood  ready  to 
obey  her  will.  All  day,  the  offended  goddess  cast  about 
for  means  of  wreaking  her  spite  against  the  unwelcome 
daughter-in-law,  who  next  morning  was  called  to  where 
Aphrodite  had  mixed  up  together  a  heap  of  wheat,  barley, 
millet,  peas,  beans,  and  other  seeds. 


PENANCE   AND   PARDON  379 

"Behold!"  was  her  scornful  greeting.  "An  ill- 
favoured  face  like  thine  can  earn  a  husband  only  by 
industry;  so  I  will  try  thee  at  work.  Sift  me  all  these 
seeds,  laying  each  kind  apart ;  and  let  me  see  it  done 
by  evening." 

With  this  the  goddess  went  off  in  richest  array  to  a 
wedding  feast,  leaving  her  daughter-in-law  a  task  which 
she  soon  gave  up  as  hopeless,  and  sat  down  to  await  fresh 
chastisement,  since  so  it  must  be.  But  a  little  ant  took 
pity  on  her  despair,  and  called  out  a  troop  of  his  kind 
to  help  Cupid's  bride.  Diligently  they  ran  and  carried 
all  day,  separating  and  sorting  the  different  seeds,  then 
vanished  when  the  work  was  done. 

At  nightfall  Aphrodite  came  back  from  the  feast, 
wreathed  with  roses,  scented  with  odours,  and  flushed 
with  wine.  Darkly  she  frowned  to  see  how  the  task  had 
been  accomplished. 

"This  is  no  work  of  thine!"  she  cried,  flinging  to 
Psyche  a  crust  of  bread,  and  leaving  her  to  sleep  on  the 
bare  earth,  while  the  goddess  retired  to  her  own  luxu- 
rious couch.  She  had  taken  care  to  have  her  son  locked 
up  in  an  inner  chamber,  lest  he  and  his  bride  should 
come  to  know  how  near  they  were  to  each  other. 

Next  morning  Psyche  was  roused  betimes  by  her 
tyrant,  who  led  her  in  sight  of  a  rocky  hill,  and  showed 
her  a  thicket  at  the  top,  about  which  fed  a  flock  of  wild 
sheep  with  fleeces  shining  like  gold. 

"They  are  untamed  as  lions,"  Aphrodite  told  her, 
"  but  I  must  needs  have  a  handful  of  their  golden  fleece. 
Fetch  it  for  me  before  the  sun  sets." 

In  silence  Psyche  set  out  on  this  errand;  but  soon 
she  thought  of  throwing  herself  from  the  rocks  rather 
than  venture  to  handle  such  wild  beasts,  that  could  hence 
be  seen  butting  at  each  other  fiercely  with  their  great 


38o  CUPID   AND   PSYCHE 

horns.  Then  as  she  looked  down  upon  a  deep  pool 
which  seemed  fit  for  a  grave,  the  Nymph  of  that  fountain 
spoke  from  its  depths. 

"  Psyche,  defile  not  with  thy  death  my  sacred  water! 
I  know  what  troubles  thee,  and  can  give  helpful  counsel. 
Now,  in  the  heat  of  the  sun,  the  wild  creatures  play  and 
fight,  and  it  would  be  dangerous  to  come  near  their  sharp 
horns,  yea,  their  venomous  teeth.  But  when  they  are 
tired,  they  will  lie  down  to  sleep  in  the  shade;  then  thou 
mayst  safely  steal  up  to  where  they  have  left  their  fleecy 
gold,  torn  by  thorns  or  hanging  to  the  branches." 

She  took  this  good  advice,  and  when  the  sheep  lay 
down  to  rest,  she  was  able  to  gather  ofF  the  thorns  a 
whole  lapful  of  their  golden  wool,  which  she  brought  back 
long  before  evening.  But  obedience  still  gained  her  no 
favour. 

"  I  will  try  thy  courage  and  strength  where  there  will 
be  none  to  help,*'  said  Aphrodite.  "  Behold  that  cloudy 
mountain,  from  whose  crest  flows  a  black  stream  that 
waters  the  Stygian  marsh  and  falls  into  the  fiery  river 
of  Cocytus.  Haste  to  fill  this  crystal  urn  from  its  icy 
source,  then  bring  it  back  to  me  before  sunset." 

Psyche  took  the  urn,  and  patiently  set  out  on  her 
errand,  from  which  soon  she  never  thought  to  come  back 
alive.  For  as  she  toiled  upwards,  she  saw  how  the  way 
was  guarded  by  fearsome  dragons  that  from  afar  glared 
at  her  with  burning  eyes  and  hissed  out  of  their  swelling 
throats.  And  the  cold  stream  was  its  own  guard,  falling 
over  the  slippery  cliflFs  in  cataracts  that,  as  they  dashed 
into  a  dark  abyss,  warned  her  back  with  angry  voices. 

"What  doest  thou  here.^  Away,  or  be  swept  from 
our  path!" 

Long  before  she  got  near  the  top.  Psyche  sank 
down  like  a  stone,  too  much  dismayed  even  for  tears. 


PENANCE   AND   PARDON  381 

But  a  friend  was  at  hand.  Overhead  hovered  the  eagle 
of  Zeus,  that,  mindful  how  Cupid  had  guided  its  course 
when  sent  to  fly  away  with  Ganymede  from  Mount  Ida, 
was  now  willing  to  serve  his  hapless  bride. 

"  Weak  and  unknowing  one,"  screamed  the  royal  bird, 
as  It  swooped  down  upon  the  mountain  side,  "canst 
thou  hope  to  steal  a  drop  from  that  sacred  spring,  or 
even  to  approach  it.f^  The  very  gods,  yea  Zeus  himself, 
hold  its  black  water  in  dread.     But  give  the  task  to  me." 

She  let  the  urn  be  snatched  away  in  the  eagle's  claws, 
and  swiftly  it  soared  over  the  heads  of  the  spitting 
dragons,  and  above  the  boiling  cataracts,  into  clouds  that 
darkly  wrapped  the  summit;  then  soon  it  came  back 
with  the  urn  filled  from  Stygian  springs.  Psyche  thank- 
fully took  it,  to  carry  it  carefully  down  without  spilling 
a  drop.     Yet  not  a  whit  was  her  mistress  appeased. 

"Art  thou,  then,  a  witch,  or  wicked  enchantress,  so 
lightly  to  finish  such  perilous  tasks?"  said  Aphrodite 
mockingly.  "But  thou  shalt  be  tried  still  further,  my 
darling,  and  learn  what  it  is  to  have  the  goddess  of  love 
for  a  foe!" 

Too  tearful  were  it  to  tell  of  all  her  spite  made  the 
hated  daughter-in-law  do  and  suffer.^  But  those  trials  had 
an  end  when  Cupid  got  to  hear  of  his  mother's  cruelty, 
that  made  him  love  Psyche  all  the  more.  Escaping  secretly 
from  his  sick -chamber,  he  flew  up  to  Olympus,  and 
besought  Zeus  to  favour  his  wedding  with  a  daughter 
of  men. 

"Art  thou  one   to  ask  indulgence  at  my  hands!" 

1  In  Apuleius,  Psyche's  last  ordeal  is  being  sent  to  Hades  to  seek  for  Aphrodite  a 
blush  of  Persephone's  beauty.  This  episode  may  be  here  omitted,  as  repeating  the 
experiences  of  Orpheus  and  other  adventurers  in  the  nether-world,  while  the  heroine 
also  repeats  her  fault  of  curiosity,  for,  like  Pandora,  she  opens  the  casket  containing 
the  charm,  that  would  have  been  lost  but  for  Cupid's  interference  as  she  lay  overcome 
by  a  swoon. 


382  CUPID  AND  PSYCHE 

quoth  that  father  of  the  gods,  stroking  the  lad*s  smooth 
face.  "  On  which  of  us,  pray,  hast  thou  not  played  those 
tricks  of  thine?  I  myself  have  been  turned  into  a  bull, 
a  swan,  or  what  not,  through  thy  frolicsome  roguery. 
But  we  cherish  thee  kindly  as  the  spoilt  child  of  Olympus, 
for  all  thy  faults;  and  if  I  grant  thy  prayer,  be  mindful 
of  the  grace  thou  hast  ill  deserved.'* 

Forthwith  Zeus  sent  out  Hermes  to  summon  a  meet- 
ing of  the  gods,  to  which  Aphrodite  must  come  among 
the  rest  on  pain  of  high  displeasure ;  and  Psyche,  too, 
was  brought  in  with  downcast  eyes  that  lit  up  at  the 
sight  of  her  lost  lover  among  the  radiant  band.  When 
all  were  assembled,  the  father  of  heaven  thus  addressed 
them — 

*'  Gods  and  goddesses,  ye  all  know  this  tricksy  boy, 
who  has  grown  up  among  us,  and  whose  wild  pranks 
I  have  often  had  to  chastise.  Now  he  is  of  an  age  to 
settle  down,  with  his  wanton  restlessness  fettered  in 
chains  of  marriage.  He  has  chosen  a  bride  among  the 
daughters  of  men,  to  whom  he  has  plighted  his  troth  for 
weal  or  woe.  What  is  done,  is  done;  and  so  be  it! 
Thou,  mother  of  love,"  he  turned  to  Aphrodite,  "  do  not 
grudge  this  alliance  with  a  mortal.  To  make  her  the 
equal  of  her  spouse,  I  raise  her  among  the  gods:  hence- 
forth let  none  despise  a  child  of  heaven ;  and  thou.  Psyche, 
take  from  me  the  gift  of  immortality  in  reward  of  thy 
faithful  love." 

With  this  he  held  a  goblet  of  nectar  to  her  trembling 
lips.  Psyche  drank  the  wine  of  the  gods;  but  the  charm 
of  deathlessness  that  ran  through  her  veins  was  not  such 
a  strong  cordial  as  to  find  Cupid*s  arms  once  more 
thrown  round  her,  in  full  light  of  day.  All  the  gods 
hailed  their  union;  for  even  Aphrodite  ceased  to  frown 
when  she  saw  her  son's  pouting  face  now  bright  with 


PENANCE   AND   PARDON  383 

smiles,  nor  could  she  scorn  a  daughter-in-law  welcomed 
to  Olympus. 

So  now  their  wedding  feast  was  held  in  the  home  of 
the  gods.  Hephaestus  cooked  the  dishes;  Dionysus  and 
Ganymede  filled  the  wine  cups.  The  Seasons  wreathed 
the  guests  with  blooming  flowers ;  the  Graces  scattered 
perfumes;  the  Muses  sang  sweetly  to  Apollo's  lyre;  and 
who  but  proud  Aphrodite  herself  led  the  dance!  After 
all  their  troubles,  Cupid  and  Psyche  were  made  happy; 
and  their  first  child  was  a  daughter  named  Joy.  Nor 
was  this  last  of  the  immortals  the  least  among  them  in 
the  eyes  of  generations  to  come,  and  in  the  honour  of 
poets  for  her  that  had  no  priest. 

**  O  brightest !  though  too  late  for  antique  vows. 
Too,  too  late  for  the  fond  believing  lyre, 
When  holy  u^ere  the  haunted  forest  boughs, 

Holy  the  air,  the  water,  and  the  fire; 

Yet  even  in  these  days  so  far  retired 

From  happy  pieties,  thy  lucent  fans. 

Fluttering  among  the  faint  Olympians, 

I  see,  and  sing,  by  my  own  eyes  inspired. 

So  let  me  be  thy  choir,  and  make  a  moan 

Upon  the  midnight  hours; 
Thy  voice,  thy  lute,  thy  pipe,  thy  incense  sweet 

From  swinged  censer  teeming; 
Thy  shrine,  thy  grove,  thy  oracle,  thy  heat 
Of  pale-mouthed  prophet  dreaming." 

—Keats. 


THE    RING   OF   POLYCRATES 

Of  all  men  in  the  world  none  seemed  to  be  more 
fortunate  than  Polycrates,  tyrant  of  Samos.  That  rich 
island  he  had  mastered  by  force ;  and  there  for  a  time 
he  reigned  along  with  his  two  brothers,  till  having  slain 
one  of  them  and  banished  the  other,  he  made  himself 
its  sole  ruler.  For  long  all  prospered  with  him.  No 
day  passed  but  brought  news  of  some  victory  to  his 
fleet,  or  some  ship  came  sailing  back  to  the  harbour 
laden  with  slaves  and  booty.  So  mighty  grew  his  power 
that  he  hoped  to  make  himself  lord  of  the  sea,  and  of 
all  Ionia,  where  no  city  had  so  many  galleys  or  so  well- 
armed  soldiers  as  Samos. 

In  the  flush  of  his  triumphs,  Polycrates  oflFered  him- 
self as  an  ally  to  Amasis,  the  great  king  of  Egypt,  who 
at  first  welcomed  his  friendship,  but  soon  sent  him  this 
message. 

"A  man  ever  fortunate  has  much  to  fear.  None 
rise  to  such  power  as  thine  without  making  enemies, 
and  so  long  as  one  of  them  lives,  he  cannot  be  secure. 
Nay,  the  gods  themselves  are  jealous  of  men  with  whom 
all  goes  too  well ;  good  and  ill  by  turns  make  the 
common  lot  of  mortals.  I  never  heard  of  any  so  great 
as  to  have  no  cares,  who  yet  came  to  a  happy  end.  It 
were  well  for  thee,  then,  to  choose  out  thy  richest  trea- 
sure and  oflTer  it  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  that  still  they 
may  forbear  to  lay  on  thee  tribute  of  adversity." 

Pondering  on  this  counsel,  the  tyrant  judged  it 
wise.  After  surveying  his  treasures,  he  chose  out  from 
them   an   emerald   seal-ring  of  great   price,   as  what   he 

991 


THE   RING  OF  POLYCRATES  385 

would  least  like  to  lose ;  and  this  it  seemed  best  to 
sacrifice.  He  put  out  to  sea  in  a  sumptuous  galley, 
whence,  in  the  eyes  of  his  courtiers  and  guards,  he 
solemnly  threw  the  ring  into  deep  water,  trusting  it 
might  buy  him  the  favour  of  the  gods. 

Before  reaching  home,  he  grudged  that  costly  gem, 
and  for  days  he  sat  reproaching  himself  for  having 
thrown  it  away.  A  week  had  not  passed  when  a  poor 
fisherman  brought  to  the  palace  a  large  fish  which  he 
thought  worthy  to  be  a  present  for  the  lord  of  Samos, 
who  accepted  it  as  his  due.  Then  soon  his  servants 
came  running  to  him  with  his  sparkling  ring,  found 
inside  the  fish  when  it  came  to  be  cut  up. 

Polycrates  took  this  for  a  sign  his  luck  would  ever 
be  unbroken.  He  wrote  joyfully  to  Amasis  how  he 
had  followed  his  counsel,  but  how  the  gods  had  given 
back  the  precious  offering.  In  answer,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, the  wise  king  sent  a  herald  renouncing  alliance 
with  him  as  one  who  seemed  destined  to  some  signal 
calamity. 

Yet  the  tyrant  in  his  pride  would  take  no  warning. 
It  is  told  of  him  that,  gathering  together  all  who  mur- 
mured against  his  rule  in  Samos,  he  sent  them  in  a 
fleet  to  help  Cambyses,  king  of  Persia,  in  his  war  on 
Egypt,  since  its  king  shrunk  from  his  friendship.  But 
these  exiles,  instead  of  fighting  for  one  they  hated, 
sailed  over  to  Greece,  and  at  Sparta  sought  aid  against 
their  tyrant.  Then  the  Spartans,  whose  way  was  to 
be  short  in  speech  as  strong  in  deeds,  mocked  at  the 
long  oration  with  which  the  eloquent  strangers  appealed 
to  them. 

"We  have  forgotten  the  beginning  of  it,  and  do 
not  understand  the  end,"  was  their  answer  to  the  Samian 
speech. 

(0  288)  tiLa 


386  THE   RING  OF  POLYCRATES 

The  men  of  Asia,  then,  bethinking  themselves  how 
to  address  these  Laconians  in  their  own  manner,  came 
back  with  an  empty  sack,  and  this  time  said  no  more 
than  "The  sack  wants  meal!"  But  still  the  laconic 
Spartans  found  fault  with  this  speech  as  too  long :  to 
say  "  meal "  would  be  enough  for  them,  when  the  sack 
was  shown  empty. 

In  the  end,  however,  they  agreed  to  send  an  ex- 
pedition against  Polycrates,  whose  rich  spoils  the  men 
of  Sparta  did  not  despise,  for  all  that  they  professed  to 
value  no  money  but  what  was  of  iron.  But  they  failed 
to  conquer  Samos ;  or,  as  some  say,  Polycrates  bought 
them  off  with  a  cheat  of  lead  money  cunningly  gilded. 

Now  the  tyrant's  pride  and  confidence  were  un- 
bounded. He  thought  himself  invincible,  yet  after 
all  he  was  to  come  to  ruin  through  his  covetousness. 
The  Persian  satrap  Orcetes,  jealous  of  his  wealth  and 
power,  wrote  from  Magnesia,  proposing  alliance  and 
offering  Polycrates  a  great  treasure  to  help  him  in  his 
conquests.  The  greedy  lord  of  Samos  sent  a  servant 
to  see  this  treasure,  to  whom  were  shown  eight  chests 
filled  with  stones,  but  covered  at  the  top  with  gold, 
ready  for  Polycrates  to  take  away.  He,  on  this  report, 
could  not  be  hindered  from  visiting  the  false  Oroetes, 
though  oracles  and  omens  were  adverse,  and  though 
his  daughter  begged  him  to  stay  at  home,  since  in  a 
dream  she  had  seen  him  raised  in  the  air,  washed  by 
Jove,  and  anointed  by  the  sun. 

But  Polycrates  took  this  dream  to  presage  an  exalta- 
tion, of  which  he  made  sure.  He  went  to  Oroetes,  who, 
having  got  him  into  his  hands,  ordered  him  to  be  straight- 
way crucified.  So  came  to  be  washed  by  the  sky  and 
anointed  by  the  sun  a  man  who  thought  he  had  nothing 
to  fear  from  heaven  or  earth. 


CRCESUS 

The  Lydians  are  said  to  have  been  the  first  people 
who  coined  money;  and  their  king  Croesus  had  gathered 
so  much  gold  that  his  name  became  a  proverb  for  wealth. 
It  is  told  that  when  Solon  visited  him  at  Sardis,  the 
king  showed  this  wise  Greek  over  his  treasure  chambers, 
expecting  to  be  admired  as  the  most  fortunate  of  men. 
But  Solon  looked  coldly  on  all  his  display  of  riches,  and 
bid  him  know  that  no  man  could  be  called  happy  till 
his  death.  Croesus  had  cause  thereafter  to  remember 
another  saying  of  Solon,  that  his  gold  might  be  taken 
away  by  one  who  had  more  iron.  Having  in  mind  to 
make  war  on  Cyrus,  the  king  of  Persia,  he  sent  rich 
gifts  to  the  oracle  of  Delphi,  seeking  to  learn  if  this 
undertaking  would  turn  out  prosperously  for  him. 
The  oracle  gave  answer  that  his  war  against  Persia 
would  overthrow  a  great  empire.  So  it  was  when  he 
himself  came  to  be  overthrown,  and  passed  under  the 
power  of  Cyrus  with  all  his  kingdom. 

But  even  before  the  conquest  of  Lydia  by  the 
Persians,  Croesus  was  to  learn  how  gold  is  no  sure 
shield  against  calamity.  He  had  two  sons,  one  of 
whom  was  deaf  and  dumb,  but  the  other,  named  Atys, 
such  a  youth  as  made  his  father's  pride  and  joy.  One 
night  Croesus  dreamt  that  Atys  would  be  wounded  to 
death  by  an  iron  weapon.  This  dream  so  much  troubled 
him,  that  he  would  no  longer  allow  his  favourite  son 
to  lead  the  Lydian  army ;  he  found  him  a  wife  to  keep 

887 


388  CRCESUS 

him  at  home ;  and  all  kinds  of  swords,  spears,  and  other 
arms  hung  up  in  the  palace  he  had  stored  away  in  a 
secret  place,  lest  by  accident  any  deadly  point  or  edge 
might  hurt  the  beloved  Atys,  who  for  his  part,  like  a 
young  man  of  courage  and  spirit  as  he  was,  took  it 
ill  that  he  should  be  so  carefully  guarded  against 
harm. 

Soon  after  his  marriage,  there  came  tidings  of  a  huge 
wild  boar  ravaging  the  mountain  region  of  Mysia.  The 
Mysians  sought  help  from  the  king  against  this  terrible 
monster ;  and  he  sent  them  a  band  of  picked  hunters 
and  hounds.  Atys  was  eager  to  make  one  of  this 
party,  protesting  that  else  he  should  pass  for  a  coward 
with  the  people,  with  his  old  comrades  in  war  and  the 
chase,  even  with  his  new-wed  wife.  So  hard  he  pressed 
for  leave,  that  Croesus  had  to  explain  his  refusal  by 
relating  the  dream  in  which  he  had  seen  his  son  slain 
by  iron. 

"A  boar's  tusks  are  not  of  iron!'*  cried  the  young 
man  lightly;  and  gave  his  father  no  peace  till  he  un- 
willingly agreed  to  let  Atys  go  on  that  hunt. 

To  guard  him  the  more  surely,  he  gave  Atys  in 
special  charge  of  a  brave  warrior  named  Adrastus,  grand- 
son of  Midas,  who  had  taken  refuge  at  the  court  of 
Croesus,  banished  from  home  on  account  of  having 
accidentally  killed  his  own  brother.  Grateful  to  the 
Lydian  king  for  having  harboured  him  in  distress, 
Adrastus  promised  faithfully  to  watch  over  Atys  and 
to  answer  for  his  safety  with  his  own  life. 

The  hunters  set  out  in  high  spirits ;  they  tracked 
the  boar  to  its  haunt ;  they  closed  round  it  in  a  circle, 
each  keen  to  be  foremost  in  striking  it  with  spear  or 
javelin.  The  boar  fell  under  a  shower  of  darts,  but 
one  went  amiss.      As  Atys  pressed  in  before  the  rest, 


CROESUS  389 

he  was  pierced  by  the  spear  of  Adrastus,  and  died  ac- 
cording to  his  father's  dream. 

Miserable  was  the  grief  of  Croesus  when  he  heard 
how  his  dream  had  come  true ;  and  most  wretched  was 
this  rich  king  as  he  met  the  mournful  train  that  brought 
the  body  of  his  son.  With  it  came  Adrastus,  who  fell 
on  his  knees  and  stretched  out  his  hands,  supplicating 
the  bereaved  father  to  take  his  life  in  atonement.  For 
all  Croesus'  affliction,  he  pitied  and  pardoned  the  re- 
morseful man  who  unwittingly  had  worked  the  will  of 
fate.  But  the  remorseful  Adrastus  could  not  forgive 
himself,  and  he  offered  up  his  own  life  as  a  sacrifice  upon 
the  tomb  of  Atys,  thus  untimely  taken  before  the  Persian 
conqueror  taught  Croesus  how  truly  Solon  had  spoken : 
Call  no  man  happy  till  his  death. 


THE   TREASURY    OF    RHAMP- 
SINITUS 

Rhampsinitus  of  Egypt  was  another  king  of  such 
great  riches  as  might  well  put  him  in  fear  of  robbery. 
To  guard  them  safely  he  had  built  a  strong  treasure- 
house,  of  which  he  kept  the  key,  and  believed  that  no 
man  could  enter  but  himself  But  the  mason  who  built 
it  had  left  one  stone  loose,  which  might  easily  be  moved 
from  the  outside  to  let  him  in  by  stealth  whenever  he 
pleased:    so  are  tyrants  served. 

When  this  man  came  to  die,  he  told  his  two  sons 
the  secret  of  the  stone,  that  they  might  rob  the  covetous 
king  at  will,  by  such  an  inheritance  to  live  at  ease  and 
support  their  mother.  Night  after  night,  then,  they 
stole  into  the  treasury,  and  brought  out  as  much  gold 
as  they  could  carry  away.  For  a  time  their  thieving 
went  unnoticed,  till  at  last  Rhampsinitus  began  to  sus- 
pect that  some  furtive  hand  must  be  at  the  heaps  of 
money  he  found  dwindling  day  by  day;  and  to  catch 
the  thief  he  had  man-traps  set  within  the  walls. 

All  unaware,  the  brothers  came  next  night  to  turn 
the  stone  as  before;  then  the  first  of  them  that  pushed 
in,  found  himself  held  fast  in  a  trap,  from  which  no 
struggling  could  break  him  loose.  Having  nothing  else 
for  it,  and  expecting  no  mercy  from  the  king,  he  bid 
his  brother  cut  off  his  head,  that  it  should  never  be 
known  who  the  robbers  were,  nor  need  he,  the  living 


TREASURY   OF   RHAMPSINITUS        391 

man,  be  brought  into  suspicion.  The  brother,  unwilling 
as  he  was,  did  so,  since  so  he  must:  he  killed  the  un- 
lucky companion  of  his  adventure,  and  hastened  away, 
carrying  away  the  head  that  might  have  told  a  tale  against 
them  both. 

Great  was  the  king's  astonishment  to  find  a  headless 
body  in  his  trap ;  but  the  stone  having  been  carefully 
replaced,  he  could  not  guess  how  the  man  had  got  in, 
nor  even  who  he  was,  still  less  who  had  taken  away  the 
head.  In  this  quandary,  Rhampsinitus  ordered  the  corpse 
to  be  hung  up  to  a  wall  in  public  view,  and  sentinels  set 
beside  it,  charged  to  seize  and  bring  before  him  anyone 
that  showed  signs  of  grief  over  this  dead  man,  whose 
friends  or  kindred  might  thus  betray  themselves. 

But  the  robber's  mother  already  knew  his  fate,  and 
could  not  bear  to  let  his  body  hang  unburied,  a  gazing- 
stock  for  the  people.  She  bid  her  surviving  son  fetch 
it  away  at  all  risks,  else  she  would  inform  the  king 
how  he  had  broken  into  the  treasury.  Since  the  tearful 
woman  would  have  it,  he  set  his  wits  to  work  on  some 
plan  of  cheating  the  sentinels,  and  hit  upon  this.  With 
the  money  he  had  stolen,  he  bought  a  string  of  asses 
and  loaded  on  them  skins  full  of  wine,  to  drive  them 
by  the  wall  on  which  his  brother's  body  hung;  then  as 
he  came  past  the  watchful  guard,  he  contrived  to  let  the 
wine  run  out  at  the  necks  of  the  skins. 

At  the  sight  of  wine  flowing  freely,  the  soldiers 
pressed  forward  to  catch  it  in  their  drinking-vessels. 
At  first  the  owner  pretended  to  be  angry,  and  all  at  a 
loss  what  to  do  with  his  leaky  skins;  but  soon  he  made 
friends  with  the  thirsty  sentinels,  desiring  them  to  drink 
at  will,  rather  than  let  the  wine  go  to  waste.  So  they 
did,  drinking  cup  after  cup  till  man  by  man  they  reeled 
over  in  drunken  slumber.     It  being  now  dark,  there  was 


:392        TREASURY   OF   RHAMPSINITUS 

no  one  to  hinder  him  taking  his  brother's  body  down; 
but  before  carrying  it  home,  he  shaved  half  the  beards 
and  the  right  cheeks  of  the  heavily  sleeping  sentinels, 
leaving  them  thus  marked  for  derision. 

So  bold  grew  this  man  that  he  came  making  love  to 
the  king's  own  daughter,  who  coaxed  him  into  boasting 
that  it  was  he  who  had  robbed  the  treasury  and  cheated 
the  guards.  Hearing  this  in  the  dark,  she  would  have 
seized  him  by  the  arm  to  give  him  up  to  her  father  ^ 
but  the  cunning  fellow  under  his  cloak  had  hidden  one 
of  the  dead  man's  arms,  which  she  now  grasped  to  find 
it  come  away  in  her  hand,  while  the  thief  slipped  away 
without  letting  her  see  his  face. 

Rhampsinitus  was  so  set  on  finding  out  who  this  bold 
and  clever  man  could  be  that,  all  other  eflForts  being  in 
vain,  he  at  last  proclaimed  full  pardon  and  reward  for 
him  on  disclosing  himself.  Trusting  this  promise,  the 
man  confessed  himself  to  the  king,  who  was  so  taken 
by  his  shrewdness  as  to  give  him  his  daughter  in  mar- 
riage and  make  him  guardian  of  the  treasury  he  had 
robbed. 


THE    LOVER'S    LEAP 

Sappho,  famed  as  a  poetess  through  the  old  Greek 
world,  was  a  daughter  of  Lesbos,  famous  also  for  its 
wine.  Her  brother  Charaxus,  carrying  wine  to  Egypt, 
is  said  to  have  ransomed  from  slavery  and  married 
Rhodopis,  "  the  rosy  cheeked  ",  whom  Sappho  celebrated 
in  an  ode ;  and  this  woman,  slave  as  she  was,  grew  so 
rich  that  one  of  the  pyramids  passed  for  her  monument. 
But  another  tale  is  told  of  Rhodopis  and  her  fortune : 
that,  as  she  was  bathing  in  the  Nile,  an  eagle  caught  up 
one  of  her  sandals  and  carried  it  away  over  the  fields 
of  Egypt,  to  drop  it  into  the  lap  of  the  king  as  he  sat 
on  his  throne  at  Memphis ;  then  the  beauty  of  that 
sandal  so  took  his  heart  that  he  sent  out  far  and  wide 
till  he  found  the  owner  to  make  her  his  queen,  after 
whose  death  he  built  a  pyramid  in  memory  of  her. 

Sappho  had  many  lovers ;  but  the  one  she  loved 
best  of  all,  she  loved  in  vain.  Between  the  islands  of 
Lesbos  and  Chios  plied  a  ferryman  named  Phaon,  who 
was  one  day  loosing  his  boat  to  set  forth,  when  up  came 
a  hobbling  old  crone  begging  a  passage,  for  love  not  for 
money,  as  she  had  not  an  obol  to  pay  him. 

"  In  with  thee  and  welcome ! "  quoth  Phaon,  giving 
no  more  heed  to  this  bundle  of  rags,  as  it  seemed, 
huddled  up  among  his  other  passengers. 

The  sun  shone  on  a  smooth  sea,  and  a  gentle  wind 
filled  the  sail  to  carry  the  boat  over  without  stroke  of 
oar,  as  if  some  heavenly  power  wafted  it  on  its  way. 


394  THE   LOVER^S   LEAP 

Then  as  the  rest  stepped  on  land,  that  old  woman  turned 
to  thank  Phaon  for  his  kindness.  But  lo !  she  was  old 
and  bent  no  more ;  she  showed  fair  and  proud  and 
richly  clad,  manifest  now  to  the  amazed  ferryman  as  no 
other  than  Aphrodite,  queen  of  love,  who  addressed  him 
with  a  radiant  smile. 

"  For  the  service  thou  hast  lightly  done  me,  I  give 
thee  a  boon  not  to  be  bought  by  all  the  gold  in  the 
world :  be  for  ever  young  and  beautiful,  as  beseems  one 
whose  life  is  lit  by  my  favour." 

She  breathed  upon  him,  and  in  a  trice  Phaon  felt  him- 
self another  man.  Fresh  young  blood  throbbed  from  his 
heart ;  his  wrinkled  and  sun-tanned  cheeks  grew  smooth ; 
the  burden  of  years  fell  away  from  him ;  and  he  stood 
up  the  loveliest  youth  in  Lesbos.  They  tell,  too,  how 
the  goddess  gave  him  an  alabaster  box  of  ointment, 
which  was  a  charm  to  work  on  every  woman  that  saw 
him,  so  that  all  the  island's  daughters  could  not  but  love 
him.  But  some  say  that  the  spell  bestowed  upon  him 
lay  in  the  root  of  a  certain  plant. 

Too  soon  the  eyes  of  Sappho  were  drawn  to  the 
transformed  ferryman ;  and  too  surely  her  heart  was 
caught  in  the  spell  of  his  blooming  face.  Forgetting 
her  earlier  sweethearts,  she  loved  none  but  Phaon ;  and 
none  like  him.  But  alas !  he  loved  her  not  again,  for 
Aphrodite  in  making  his  face  young  and  beautiful,  had 
left  his  heart  untouched.  Friendly  to  man  and  woman, 
he  would  have  no  maid's  devotion ;  and  he  turned  away 
with  a  laugh  from  the  passionate  sighs  which  Sappho 
was  skilled  to  put  into  song.  When  to  songs  and  sighs 
his  ears  proved  deaf,  neither  words  nor  tasks  could 
soothe  her  longing. 

"  As  o*er  her  loom  the  Lesbian  maid 
In  love-sick  languor  hung  her  head, 


THE   LOVER'S  LEAP  395 

Unknowing  where  her  fingers  strayed 
She  weeping  turned  away  and  said — 

**  *  Oh,  my  sweet  mother,  't  is  in  vain, 
I  cannot  weave  as  once  I  wove. 
So  wildered  is  my  heart  and  brain 
With  thinking  of  that  youth  I  love.'" 

— r.  Moor€, 

In  vain,  striking  her  lyre  to  the  verses  we  still  call 
Sapphics,  she  invoked  the  goddess  who  had  wasted  on 
Phaon  that  boon  of  beauty — 

"  Splendour-throned  Queen,  immortal  Aphrodite, 
Daughter  of  Jove,  Enchantress,  I  implore  thee 
Vex  not  my  soul  with  agonies  and  anguish; 

Slay  me  not.  Goddess! 
Come  in  thy  pity — come,  if  I  have  prayed  thee; 
Come  at  the  cry  of  my  sorrow;  in  the  old  times 
Oft  thou  hast  heard,  and  left  thy  father's  heaven, 

Left  the  gold  houses. 
Yoking  thy  chariot.     Swiftly  did  the  doves  fly, 
Swiftly  they  brought  thee,  waving  plumes  of  wonder — 
Waving  their  dark  plumes  all  across  the  aether, 

All  down  the  azure. 


So  once  again  come.  Mistress;  and,  releasing 
Me  from  my  sadness,  give  me  what  I  sue  for. 
Grant  me  my  prayer,  and  be  as  heretofore  now 
Friend  and  protectress." 

— Edwin  Arnold. 

In    vain    she    would    have   lured    Phaon    with    her 
sweetest  songs ;  she  had  to  sing  of  him  to  the  winds. 

"  Peer  of  gods  he  seemeth  to  me,  the  blissful 
Man  who  sits  and  gazes  at  thee  before  him. 
Close  beside  thee  sits,  and  in  silence  hears  thee 

Silverly  speaking, 
Laughing  love's  low  laughter.     Oh  this,  this  only 
Stirs  the  troubled  heart  in  my  breast  to  tremble! 
For  should  I  but  see  thee  a  little  moment, 

Straight  is  my  voice  hushed; 


396  THE   LOVER'S   LEAP 

Yea,  my  tongue  is  broken,  and  through  and  through  me 
'Neath  the  flesh  impalpable  fire  runs  tingling; 
Nothing  see  mine  eyes,  and  a  noise  of  roaring 

Waves  in  my  ear  sounds; 
Sweat  runs  down  in  rivers,  a  tremor  seizes 
All  my  limbs,  and  paler  than  grass  in  autumn, 
Caught  by  pains  of  menacing  death,  I  falter, 

Lost  in  the  love-trance." 

— J.  A.  Symonds. 

In  vain  for  her  came  the  shades  of  evening,  so  kindly 
to  man  and  cattle. 

"  Oh  Hesperus!  thou  bringest  all  good  things — 
Home  to  the  weary,  to  the  hungry  cheer. 
To  the  young  bird  the  parent's  brooding  wings. 
The  welcome  stall  to  the  overlaboured  steer; 
Whatever  of  peace  about  our  hearthstone  clings, 
Whate'er  our  household  gods  protect  of  dear. 
Are  gathered  round  us  by  thy  look  of  rest; 
Thou  bring'st  the  child,  too,  to  the  mother's  breast." 

— Byron. 

In  vain,  when  the  unresponsive  loved  one  went  far 
out  of  reach  of  her  endearments,  she  wrote  to  call  him 
back  to  Lesbos. 

"  Gods,  can  no  prayers,  no  sighs,  no  numbers  move 
One  savage  heart,  or  teach  it  how  to  love? 
The  winds  my  prayers,  my  sighs,  my  numbers  bear; 
The  flying  winds  have  lost  them  all  in  air. 
Or  when,  alas,  shall  more  auspicious  gales 
To  these  fond  eyes  restore  thy  welcome  sails? 
If  you  return,  ah,  why  these  long  delays? 
Poor  Sappho  dies  while  careless  Phaon  stays. 
O  launch  the  bark,  nor  fear  the  watery  plain: 
Venus  for  thee  shall  smooth  her  native  main. 
O  launch  thy  bark,  secure  of  prosperous  gales: 
Cupid  for  thee  shall  spread  the  swelling  sails. 
If  you  will  fly — (yet  ah,  what  cause  can  be. 
Too  cruel  youth,  that  you  should  fly  from  me?) 


THE  LOVER'S  LEAP  397 

If  not  from  Phaon  I  must  hope  for  ease, 
Ah,  let  me  seek  it  from  the  raging  seas: 
To  raging  seas  unpitied  I  '11  remove; 
And  either  cease  to  live  or  cease  to  love," 

— Ovid,  translated  by  Pope. 

At  last,  growing  old  in  despair,  she  could  no  longer 
endure  the  pangs  of  her  despised  love.  Then  as  now, 
the  sea  broke  upon  a  tall  white  clifF,  crowned  by  a  temple 
of  Apollo,  from  which  love-lorn  maidens  were  wont  to 
hurl  themselves,  to  cure  this  and  all  other  ills.  Here, 
dressed  in  virgin  white,  she  came  to  end  her  life,  yet 
hoping  against  hope  maybe  that  the  waves  might  bear 
her  to  Phaon's  side.  Singing  her  last  song,  Sappho 
took  the  fatal  leap,  to  be  seen  no  more  of  men,  among 
whom  will  never  be  forgotten  the  name  and  fate  of  one 
celebrated  as  the  Tenth  Muse. 


ER   AMONG   THE    DEAD' 

Plato  relates  this  tale  of  Er,  a  brave  warrior  of 
Pamphylia,  who  falling  in  battle  had  been  laid  on  the 
pile  to  be  burned,  since  he  showed  no  sign  of  life.  But 
there  his  body  remained  uncorrupted  till  the  twelfth  day, 
when,  to  the  amazement  of  his  friends,  he  rose  as  from 
the  dead  and  told  them  how  it  had  gone  with  him  in 
the  world  of  the  Shades. 

His  soul,  passing  out  of  the  body,  had  found  itself 
among  a  crowd  of  others  in  a  wonderful  scene,  where 
two  chasms  opened  down  through  the  earth,  and  two 
other  passages  led  upwards  to  heaven.  Here  sat  the 
judges  who  pronounced  every  man's  sentence.  The 
souls  of  the  just  were  bidden  take  the  heavenly  way, 
each  bearing  in  front  a  scroll  that  was  his  title  to  blessed- 
ness ;  while  on  the  backs  of  the  rest  were  hung  records 
of  their  evil  deeds;  and  they  had  to  descend  under- 
ground. But  when  it  came  to  Er's  turn,  the  judges 
decided  that  he  should  bear  back  to  our  world  a  report 
of  what  he  saw  and  heard  among  the  dead. 

He  saw,  then,  how  the  newly  dead  went  their 
separate  ways  by  one  of  the  two  openings  upwards  and 
downwards,  while  through  the  other  two  kept  rising  back 
to  earth  hapless  shades,  covered  with  filth  and  dust,  and 
to   meet  them  came   from   heaven   a  shining   stream  of 

*  This  seems  an  artificial  myth,  composed  for  Plato's  Republic  by  way  of  moral  j 
but  it  may  be  based  on  some  old  story,  and  in  the  name  of  the  hero  has  been  found  a 
hint  of  Zoroaster- 

398 


ER   AMONG  THE   DEAD  399 

pure  souls.  On  the  plain  between  they  mingled,  recog- 
nizing those  whom  they  had  known  during  life,  and 
eagerly  exchanging  news,  the  just  full  of  joy,  but  the 
evildoers  tearfully  lamenting  what  they  had  borne  for 
a  thousand  years.  Er  learned  that  each  crime  done  in 
the  flesh  must  be  expiated  during  a  tenfold  term  of 
shadowy  life;  that  the  most  dreadful  chastisements  were 
for  the  impious  and  for  parricides,  and  the  richest 
rewards  for  those  who  had  benefited  their  fellow  men. 
He  heard  asked  and  told  the  fate  of  Ardiaeus,  a  tyrant 
of  his  own  country,  who  a  thousand  years  before  had 
killed  his  father  and  his  elder  brother  among  other 
crimes.  As  the  souls  that  so  long  ago  came  down  with 
this  malefactor  were  at  last  released  from  their  penance, 
they  had  shuddered  to  see  how  the  chasm  closed  before 
him,  and  how  he,  along  with  others  of  like  guilt,  was 
dragged  back  by  hideous  fiery  forms  to  be  bound  head 
and  foot,  flayed  with  scourges,  and  torn  through  blood- 
dripping  thorns  before  being  again  cast  back  into  the 
depths  of  Tartarus. 

The  souls  now  destined  to  return  to  earth  remained 
for  a  week  in  this  place ;  then  on  the  eighth  day  they  set 
out  for  a  pillar  of  light  that  after  four  days'  march  came 
into  view  glowing  like  a  rainbow,  but  more  brilliant 
and  more  ethereal.  This  light  is  the  axis  of  heaven 
and  earth ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  hangs  by  chains  the 
adamantine  spindle  of  Necessity,  which  she  turns  on 
her  knees  to  keep  whirling  eight  variously  coloured 
circles  that  are  the  courses  of  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
planets,  and  the  fixed  stars.  With  each  circle  whirls  a 
Siren,  chanting  on  a  single  note,  so  that  their  eight  voices 
mingle  in  harmony  to  make  the  music  of  the  Spheres. 

Around  the  throne  of  Necessity,  at  equal  distances 
sat  her  three  daughters,  the  Fates — Lachesis,  Clotho,  and 


400  ER  AMONG  THE  DEAD 

Atropos  —  robed  in  white  and  wearing  fillets  on  their 
heads.  Their  voices  kept  time  with  the  Sirens :  Lachesis 
sang  the  past,  Clotho  the  present,  Atropos  the  future ; 
while  from  time  to  time  all  three  touched  the  spindle 
to  keep  it  turning.  The  souls  had  first  to  present 
themselves  before  Lachesis,  ranged  in  order  by  a  herald 
or  minister  who,  placing  on  her  knees  the  lots  to  be 
drawn  for  each,  made  proclamation  to  them  all. 

"  Thus  says  the  virgin  Fate,  daughter  of  Necessity : 
wandering  souls,  ye  are  about  to  enter  a  new  body  of 
life.  Each  may  choose  his  own  lot  in  turn ;  but  the 
choice  will  be  irrevocable.  Virtue  has  no  respect  of 
persons ;  it  cleaves  to  who  honours  it,  and  flies  from  the 
despiser.  On  your  own  heads  be  your  fortune:  the 
gods  take  for  it  no  blame." 

First  they  had  to  draw  lots  for  the  order  which  they 
should  choose,  except  only  Er,  bidden  to  stand  by  and 
watch.  The  same  hierophant  then  strewed  on  earth 
before  them  all  the  conditions  of  human  life,  from 
tyranny  to  beggary,  fame,  beauty,  riches,  poverty,  health, 
sickness,  these  fates  either  unmingled  or  a  blending  of 
good  or  evil.  There  were  animal  lives,  too,  mixed  up 
with  men*s  and  women's.  That  minister  of  the  fates 
now  urged  the  souls  not  to  choose  hastily,  since  the 
last  had  as  good  a  chance  as  the  first. 

But  he  who  came  foremost  eagerly  seized  on  the 
greatest  sovereignty  that  oflFered  itself;  then,  having 
looked  closer  into  this  lot,  found  that  he  was  destined 
to  devour  his  own  children,  among  other  enormities, 
whereon  he  cried  out  bitterly,  accusing  for  such  a  choice 
fortune,  the  gods,  everything  but  his  own  folly.  This 
soul  had  come  from  Elysium,  and  had  formerly  lived 
in  a  well-ordered  state,  where  he  owed  his  virtue  rather 
to  custom  and  disposition  than  to  wisdom.     So  indeed 


ER  AMONG  THE   DEAD  401 

not  a  few  of  the  souls  from  Elysium  went  wrong  in 
their  choice,  for  want  of  experience  in  the  evils  of  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  those  released  from  the  world  below 
had  often  been  schooled  by  their  own  sufferings  and 
those  of  others  to  be  more  considerate.  Thus  it 
happened  that  most  of  the  souls  now  exchanged  a  good 
for  an  evil  lot,  or  the  contrary. 

Er  was  struck  both  by  pity  and  amusement  to  note 
how  strangely  the  souls  made  their  choice,  guided  ap- 
parently by  some  recollection  of  their  former  life.  He 
saw  Orpheus  pick  out  the  body  of  a  swan,  as  if  in  hatred 
of  the  women  who  had  torn  him  to  pieces,  not  caring 
to  owe  his  birth  to  such  a  one.  He  saw  a  swan  choose 
the  human  figure,  and  other  birds  become  musicians, 
while  Thamyris  took  for  himself  the  form  of  a  night- 
ingale. One  soul  chose  to  be  a  lion :  this  was  Ajax, 
son  of  Telamon,  who  had  never  got  over  his  rage  when 
the  arms  of  Achilles  were  awarded  to  another ;  and  he 
would  not  be  a  man  again.  Him  followed  Agamemnon, 
whose  former  fate  also  had  soured  him  against  man- 
kind, so  now  he  selected  the  life  of  an  eagle.  Atalanta, 
admiring  the  honour  in  which  strength  of  body  was 
held,  chose  to  become  an  athlete  outright.  The  soul 
of  Epeus,  maker  of  the  Trojan  Horse,  preferred  the  lot 
of  a  woman  clever  with  her  fingers;  and  the  buffoon 
Thersites,  who  came  up  among  the  rest,  was  turned  into 
a  monkey.  Ulysses  came  last  of  all ;  and  he,  remem- 
bering the  past  mishaps  that  had  sickened  his  soul  of 
adventurousness,  carefully  searched  out  and  at  last  found, 
in  an  out-of-the-way  corner,  a  quiet  simple  life  which 
all  the  other  souls  had  despised ;  then  he  exclaimed 
that  had  he  had  the  first  choice,  he  would  have  asked 
no  better. 

When  all  the  souls  had  made  their  choice,  in  the 


402  ER  AMONG  THE   DEAD 

same  order  they  passed  before  Lachesis,  who  gave  to 
each  the  guardian  genius  that  should  accompany  him 
through  life  and  carry  out  the  destiny  bound  up  with 
his  chosen  lot.  This  genius  led  them  to  Clotho,  that 
with  a  turn  of  the  spindle  she  should  confirm  their 
choice.  Each  soul  had  to  touch  the  spindle,  and  next 
was  brought  up  to  Atropos,  twisting  the  thread  between 
her  fingers  to  make  unbreakable  what  had  been  spun 
by  Clotho.  Lastly  they  defiled  before  the  throne  of 
Necessity,  the  soul  and  its  genius  side  by  side. 

Thence  they  passed  on  to  the  bare  plain  of  Lethe, 
where  no  tree  shaded  them  from  a  scorching  heat.  The 
night  was  spent  by  the  river  of  Forgetfulness,  whose 
waters  can  be  borne  away  in  no  vessel.  From  its  stream 
each  must  drink,  and  some  rashly  drank  too  deep,  so 
as  to  lose  all  memory  of  what  had  gone  before.  There- 
upon they  fell  asleep,  but  towards  midnight  burst  out 
a  din  of  thunder  and  earthquake,  by  which  the  souls 
were  roused  to  be  scattered  here  and  there  like  shooting 
stars  to  the  different  spots  where  they  should  be  reborn. 
As  for  Er,  he  had  not  been  suffered  to  drink  of  Lethe, 
yet  he  knew  not  how  his  soul  came  back  to  his  body ; 
but  all  at  once,  opening  his  eyes  next  morning,  he  found 
himself  alive  stretched  out  on  his  funeral  pyre. 


DAMON    AND    PYTHIAS* 

(After  Schiller.) 

The  halls  of  Dionysius 

Had  Damon  sought  with  hidden  steel, 

But,  seized  and  bound  by  watchful  guards, 

Must  needs  his  stealthy  aim  reveal. 

Bold  was  the  desperate  man's  reply: 

"  I  would  have  freed  the  commonweal!" 

Then  short  the  tyrant's  sentence — "Die!" 

"  Behold  me  ready  for  my  fate, 
Nor  would  I  crave  my  life  from  thee; 
Yet  wert  thou  pleased  to  grant  respite, 
My  sister's  wedding  day  to  see, 
Pythias,  my  friend,  will  lie  in  bail — 
Three  days  I  ask,  and  only  three — 
He  braves  thy  vengeance,  should  I  fail." 

Sour  smiled  the  lord  of  Syracuse, 
And  answered  after  hasty  thought: 
"  The  boon  I  grant — so  let  it  be, 
Yet  by  thy  surety's  peril  bought: 
Beyond  the  term  if  thou  delay. 
He  to  the  shameful  cross  is  brought. 
And  thus  thy  guilt  is  done  away." 

*  In  Schiller's  ballad,  which  a  little  expands  the  classical  story,  the  names  of 
the  heroes  stood  originally  Mcerus  and  Selinuntius-^  and  by  Cicero  Pythias  is  named 
PhiHriai\  but  this  translation  presents  them  in  the  nomenclature  that  has  become  most 
famous. 

i03 


404  DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS 

His  friend  he  seeks  and  tells  his  need: 

"  So  thou  wilt  pledge  thy  life  for  mine, 

Three  days  of  grace  have  I  to  pay 

The  forfeit  of  my  rash  design. 

Thou  know'st  the  cause;  thou  know'st  my  faith — 

Ere  the  third  sun  hath  ceased  to  shine, 

I  win  thee  back  from  bonds  and  scaith," 

His  friend  embraced  him  silently. 
And  to  the  tyrant^s  dungeon  sped. 
Then  Damon  to  his  sister's  home 
Hath  ta'en  his  way,  and  seen  her  wed; 
But  the  third  morning's  early  dawn 
Rouses  him  from  his  restless  bed. 
While  a  dear  life  still  lies  in  pawn. 

All  through  that  night,  the  mountain  tops 

Had  been  beset  with  storms  of  rain. 

The  springs  welled  up,  the  brooks  rushed  down, 

The  anxious  traveller  toiled  in  vain; 

Hourly  he  saw  the  river  swell. 

And,  ere  the  bridge  his  haste  could  gain, 

Its  arch  in  crashing  ruin  fell. 

Dismayed  he  wandered  by  the  brink, 
And  gazed  upon  the  further  shore: 
He  cried  aloud,  no  answer  came, 
Only  the  torrent's  echoing  roar; 
He  looked  around,  no  help  saw  he, 
No  bridge,  no  boat  to  bear  him  o'er 
That  stream  fast  growing  to  a  sea. 

Kneeling,  with  tears  and  lifted  hands 
To  heaven  he  raised  his  piteous  cry. 


DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS 

"  Oh,  stem,  ye  gods,  the  sundering  flood! 
Let  me  but  pass! — the  moments  fly; 
And,  when  the  clouded  sun  goes  down. 
For  me  my  trustful  friend  must  die. 
Should  1  have  failed  to  reach  yon  town!" 

But  still  the  waters  rush  and  roar, 
Still  mounts  the  sun  with  watery  beam, 
Then  Damon,  fearless  in  despair. 
Plunges  into  the  swollen  stream. 
And  struggles  through  its  whirling  tide, 
Till,  favoured  by  the  will  supreme, 
He  wins  across  to  grasp  the  side. 

He  gained  firm  ground,  and  hurried  on; 
But  while  his  thanks  to  Jove  he  spoke. 
From  shelter  of  a  gloomy  wood 
What  crew  of  savage  outlaws  broke! 
They  barred  his  path,  that  robber  band. 
And,  menacing  with  murderous  stroke, 
Bade  the  belated  traveller  stand. 


405 


"  What  would  ye?     Forfeit  to  the  king 
My  life;  nought  else  have  I  to  take!" 
Suddenly  from  the  nearest  hand 
He  snatched  a  heavy  knotted  stake, 
To  fall  on  them  with  maddened  cry: 
"  No  pity,  then,  for  Pythias'  sake!" 
Three  he  strikes  down,  the  others  fly. 

Soon,  as  the  sun  shines  hotly  forth. 
He  flags  beneath  its  scorching  ray; 
Fainting  he  strives  to  stagger  on, 
But  sinks  upon  his  knees  to  pray: 


4o6  DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS 

"  Twice  aided  thus  in  desperate  strait, 

Shall  I  now  perish  by  the  way, 

And  leave  my  friend  to  such  a  fatel" 

And  hark!  there  gathers,  hard  at  hand, 
A  purling  murmur  on  his  ear. 
And  see!  from  out  the  barren  rock 
A  fountain's  silvery  spray  appear, 
Trickling  into  a  green-set  pool. 
The  grateful  waters,  crystal  clear. 
His  fevered  limbs  refresh  and  cool. 

When  now  the  sunset  gleams  aslant 
Through  leafy  screens,  and  on  the  meads 
Each  tree  draws  out  a  lengthening  shade. 
Two  travellers  from  the  town  he  heeds. 
For  words  that  chill  his  heart  with  dread 
He  hears  them  say  as  past  he  speeds, 
"  Soon  Pythias  to  the  cross  is  led! " 

What  inward  goadings  urge  him  on! 
What  anxious  tremblings  wing  his  feet! 
At  length,  the  towers  of  Syracuse, 
Gilt  with  the  evening's  glory,  greet 
His  eager  eyes;  but  at  the  gate. 
Comes  hurrying  forth  his  lord  to  meet. 
The  faithful  servant,  Philostrate. 

"  Back!     Back!     Thy  life  thou  still  mayst  save, 

But  for  thy  friend  thou  com'st  too  late. 

By  now  he  hangs  in  writhing  throes; 

From  hour  to  hour  did  hope  await 

Thy  coming,  and  his  steadfast  faith 

The  tyrant's  scoff  could  not  abate: 

Now  hope  and  trust  are  lost  in  death." 


DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS  407 

"  Is  It  too  late?     Can  I  not  save? 
In  vain  did  Pythias  hold  me  true? 
Yet  shall  no  tyrant  mock  at  love, 
If  doom  our  comradeship  renew! 
Boast  not  that  friendly  faith  hath  failed. 
Thou  cruel  king!.     For  one,  let  two 
Victims  upon  the  cross  be  nailed." 

The  dusk  draws  on.     Lo!  by  the  gate 
That  fearsome  engine  raised  on  high, 
Whereto  rough  ropes  and  brutal  hands 
Are  binding  Pythias  to  die. 
The  guards,  the  gaping  crowd  give  way-— 
"  Hold,  butchers,  hold!     See,  here  am  I, 
The  man  for  whom  in  plight  he  lay!" 

The  friends  fell  in  each  other's  arms; 
Wondered  the  people  all  to  see. 
They  wept  for  mingled  joy  and  grief. 
Nor  any  eye  from  tears  was  free. 
This  tale  men  carried  to  the  king. 
And  some  touch  of  humanity 
Stirred  him  before  his  throne  to  bring 

Damon  and  Pythias.     Long  he  gazed. 
Astounded,  on  them :  "  Ye  the  art 
Have  found  to  teach  me  trust  is  true. 
And  unto  mercy  move  my  heart. 
If  such  the  love  of  friends,  let  me 
With  your  fair  fellowship  have  part, 
And  in  so  strong  a  bond  join  Three!" 


RHCECUS 

(James  Russell  Lowell.) 

Hear  now  this  fairy  legend  of  old  Greece, 
As  full  of  freedom,  youth,  and  beauty  still 
As  the  immortal  freshness  of  that  grace 
Carved  for  all  ages  on  some  Attic  frieze. 

A  youth  named  Rhcecus,  wandering  in  the  wood 
Saw  an  old  oak  just  trembling  to  its  fall. 
And,  feeling  pity  of  so  fair  a  tree. 
He  propped  its  gray  trunk  with  admiring  care, 
And  with  a  thoughtless  footstep  loitered  on. 
But,  as  he  turned,  he  heard  a  voice  behind 
That  murmured  "  Rhcecus!"     'T  was  as  if  the  leaves 
Stirred  by  a  passing  breath,  had  murmured  it. 
And,  while  he  paused  bewildered,  yet  again 
It  murmured  "  Rhcecus!"  softer  than  a  breeze. 
He  started,  and  beheld  with  dizzy  eyes 
What  seemed  the  substance  of  a  happy  dream 
Stand  there  before  him,  spreading  a  warm  glow 
Within  the  green  glooms  of  the  shadowy  oak. 
It  seemed  a  woman's  shape,  yet  all  too  fair 
To  be  a  woman,  and  with  eyes  too  meek 
For  any  that  were  wont  to  mate  with  gods. 
All  naked  like  a  goddess  stood  she  there, 
And  like  a  goddess  all  too  beautiful 
To  feel  the  guilt-born  earthliness  of  shame. 


RHCECUS  409 

"  Rhoecus,  I  am  the  Dryad  of  this  tree," 
Thus  she  began,  dropping  her  low-toned  words 
Serene,  and  full,  and  clear,  as  drops  of  dew; 
"  And  with  it  I  am  doomed  to  live  and  die; 
The  rain  and  sunshine  are  my  caterers, 
Nor  have  I  other  bliss  than  simple  life; 
Now  ask  me  what  thou  wilt,  that  I  can  give, 
And  with  a  thankful  joy  it  shall  be  thine." 

Then  Rhoecus,  with  a  flutter  at  the  heart. 
Yet,  by  the  prompting  of  such  beauty,  bold, 
Answered:  "  What  is  there  that  can  satisfy 
The  endless  craving  of  the  soul  but  love? 
Give  me  thy  love,  or  but  the  hope  of  that 
Which  must  be  evermore  my  spirit's  goal." 
After  a  little  pause  she  said  again, 
But  with  a  glimpse  of  sadness  in  her  tone, 
"  I  give  it,  Rhoecus,  though  a  perilous  gift; 
An  hour  before  the  sunset  meet  me  here." 
And  straightway  there  was  nothing  he  could  see 
But  the  green  glooms  beneath  the  shadowy  oak. 
And  not  a  sound  came  to  his  straining  ears 
But  the  low  trickling  rustle  of  the  leaves, 
And  far  away  upon  an  emerald  slope 
The  falter  of  an  idle  shepherd's  pipe. 

Now,  in  those  days  of  simpleness  and  faith. 
Men  did  not  think  that  happy  things  were  dreams 
Because  they  overstepped  the  narrow  bourn 
Of  likelihood,  but  reverently  deemed 
Nothing  too  wondrous  or  too  beautiful 
To  be  the  guerdon  of  a  daring  heart. 
So  Rhoecus  made  no  doubt  that  he  was  blest, 
And  all  along  unto  the  city's  gate 

(C288)  15 


4IO  RHCECUS 

Earth  seemed  to  spring  beneath  him  as  he  walked, 
The  clear,  broad  sky  looked  bluer  than  its  wont, 
And  he  could  scarce  believe  he  had  not  wings. 
Such  sunshine  seemed  to  glitter  through  his  veins 
Instead  of  blood,  so  light  he  felt  and  strange. 

Young  Rhoecus  had  a  faithful  heart  enough, 
But  one  that  in  the  present  dwelt  too  much 
And,  taking  with  blithe  welcome  whatsoe'er 
Chance  gave  of  joy,  was  wholly  bound  in  that, 
Like  the  contented  peasant  of  a  vale. 
Deemed  it  the  world,  and  never  looked  beyond. 
So,  haply  meeting  in  the  afternoon 
Some  comrades  who  were  playing  at  the  dice. 
He  joined  them  and  forgot  all  else  beside. 

The  dice  was  rattling  at  the  merriest. 
And  Rhoecus,  who  had  met  but  sorry  luck. 
Just  laughed  in  triumph  at  a  happy  throw. 
When  through  the  room  there  hummed  a  yellow  bee 
That  buzzed  about  his  ear  with  down-dropped  legs 
As  if  to  light.     And  Rhoecus  laughed  and  said. 
Feeling  how  red  and  flushed  he  was  with  loss, 
"  By  Venus!  does  he  take  me  for  a  rose?" 
And  brushed  him  off  with  rough,  impatient  hand. 
But  still  the  bee  came  back,  and  thrice  again 
Rhoecus  did  beat  him  off  with  growing  wrath. 
Then  through  the  window  flew  the  wounded  bee, 
And  Rhoecus  tracking  him  with  angry  eyes. 
Saw  a  sharp  mountain-peak  of  Thessaly 
Against  the  red  disc  of  the  setting  sun, — 
And  instantly  the  blood  sank  from  his  heart, 
As  if  its  very  walls  had  caved  away. 
Without  a  word  he  turned,  and,  rushing  forth, 


RHCECUS  411 

Ran  madly  through  the  city  and  the  gate, 
And  o*er  the  plain,  which  now  the  wood's  long  shade, 
By  the  low  sun  thrown  forward  broad  and  dim, 
Darkened  wellnigh  unto  the  city's  wall. 

Quite  spent  and  out  of  breath  he  reached  the  tree. 
And,  listening  fearfully,  he  heard  once  more 
The  low  voice  murmur  "  Rhcecus! "  close  at  hand: 
Whereat  he  looked  around  him,  but  could  see 
Nought  but  the  deepening  glooms  beneath  the  oak. 
Then  sighed  the  voice,  "  Oh,  Rhcecus!  nevermore 
Shalt  thou  behold  me  or  by  day  or  night. 
Me,  who  would  fain  have  blessed  thee  with  a  love 
More  ripe  and  bounteous  than  ever  yet 
Filled  up  with  nectar  any  mortal  heart: 
But  thou  didst  scorn  my  humble  messenger. 
And  sent'st  him  back  to  me  with  bruised  wings. 
We  spirits  only  show  to  gentle  eyes. 
We  ever  ask  an  undivided  love; 
And  he  who  scorns  the  least  of  Nature's  works 
Is  thenceforth  exiled  and  shut  out  from  all. 
Farewell!  for  thou  canst  never  see  me  more." 

Then  Rhcecus  beat  his  breast,  and  groaned  aloud, 
And  cried,  "  Be  pitiful!  forgive  me  yet 
This  once,  and  I  shall  never  need  it  more!" 
"  Alas! "  the  voice  returned,  "  't  is  thou  art  blind, 
Not  I  unmerciful;  I  can  forgive. 
But  have  no  skill  to  heal  thy  spirit's  eyes; 
Only  the  soul  hath  power  o'er  itself." 
With  that  again  there  murmured  "  Nevermore!" 
And  Rhcecus  after  heard  no  other  sound. 
Except  the  rattling  of  the  oak's  crisp  leaves, 
Like  the  long  surf  upon  a  distant  shore, 

(C288)  t6a 


412  RHGECUS 

Raking  the  sea-worn  pebbles  up  and  down. 
The  night  had  gathered  round  him :  o*er  the  plain 
The  city  sparkled  with  its  thousand  lights, 
And  sounds  of  revel  fell  upon  his  ear 
Harshly  and  like  a  curse;  above,  the  sky. 
With  all  its  bright  sublimity  of  stars. 
Deepened,  and  on  his  forehead  smote  the  breeze: 
Beauty  was  all  around  him  and  delight. 
But  from  that  eve  he  was  alone  on  earth. 


CEPHALUS  AND   PROCRIS 

(Thomas  Moore.) 

A  Hunter  once  in  that  grove  reclined 

To  shun  the  noon's  bright  eye, 
And  oft  he  wooed  the  wandering  wind 

To  cool  his  brow  with  its  sigh. 
While  mute  lay  even  the  wild  bee's  hum. 
Nor  breath  could  stir  the  aspen's  hair, 
His  song  was  still  "  Sweet  air,  oh  come!" 
While  Echo  answered  "  Come,  sweet  air!" 

But,  hark,  what  sounds  from  the  thicket  rise! 

What  meaneth  that  rustling  spray.? 
"  'T  is  the  white-horned  doe,"  the  Hunter  cries, 

"  I  have  sought  since  break  of  day!" 
Quick  o'er  the  sunny  glade  he  springs. 
The  arrow  flies  from  his  sounding  bow; 
"  Hilliho — hilliho!"  he  gaily  sings. 
While  Echo  sighs  forth  "  Hilliho!" 

Alas,  'twas  not  the  white-horned  doe 

He  saw  in  the  rustling  grove. 
But  the  bridal  veil,  as  pure  as  snow, 

Of  his  own  young  wedded  love. 
And,  ah,  too  sure  that  arrow  sped. 
For  pale  at  his  feet  he  sees  her  lie; — 
"  I  die,  I  die,"  was  all  she  said. 
While  Echo  murmured,  "I  die,  I  die!"* 

*  Our  poet  hardly  brings  out  all  the  points  of  this  story,  as  that  poor  Procrii  wat 
spying  on  her  husband,  believing  herself  to  have  some  cause  for  jealousy  in  his  invoca- 
tion of  an  invisible  being,  and  that  she  herself  had  given  him  the  fatal  dart  by  which 
she  fell,  a  charm  bestowed  on  her  by  Artemis. 

413 


TITHONUS' 

(Tennyson.) 

The  woods  decay,  the  woods  decay  and  fall, 

The  vapours  weep  their  burthen  to  the  ground, 

Man  comes  and  tills  the  field  and  lies  beneath, 

And  after  many  a  summer  dies  the  swan. 

Me  only  cruel  immortality 

Consumes:  I  wither  slowly  in  thine  arms. 

Here  at  the  quiet  limit  of  the  world, 

A  white-hair'd  shadow  roaming  like  a  dream 

The  ever  silent  spaces  of  the  East, 

Far-folded  mists,  and  gleaming  halls  of  morn. 

Alas!  for  this  gray  shadow,  once  a  man — 
So  glorious  in  his  beauty  and  thy  choice. 
Who  madest  him  thy  chosen,  that  he  seem'd 
To  his  great  heart  none  other  than  a  God! 
1  ask'd  thee,  "  Give  me  immortality ". 
Then  didst  thou  grant  mine  asking  with  a  smile. 
Like  wealthy  men  who  care  not  how  they  give. 
But  thy  strong  Hours  indignant  work'd  their  wills. 
And  beat  me  down  and  marr'd  and  wasted  me. 
And  tho'  they  could  not  end  me,  left  me  maim'd 
To  dwell  in  presence  of  immortal  youth. 
Immortal  age  beside  immortal  youth, 

^Tithonus  was  Priam's  brother,  beloved  by  Eos  (the  Dawn),  who  procured  for 
him  the  gift  of  immortality,  but  without  enduring  youth,  so  that  he  became  a  proto> 
type  of  Swift's  Struldbrugs. 

414 


TITHONUS  415 

And  all  I  was,  in  ashes.     Can  thy  love, 

Thy  beauty,  make  amends,  tho'  even  now. 

Close  over  us,  the  silver  star,  thy  guide. 

Shines  in  those  tremulous  eyes  that  fill  with  tears 

To  hear  me?     Let  me  go:  take  back  thy  gift. 

Why  should  a  man  desire  in  any  way 

To  vary  from  the  kindly  race  of  men. 

Or  pass  beyond  the  goal  of  ordinance 

Where  all  should  pause,  as  is  most  meet  for  all.? 

A  soft  air  fans  the  cloud  apart;  there  comes 
A  glimpse  of  that  dark  world  where  I  was  born. 
Once  more  the  old  mysterious  glimmer  steals 
From  thy  pure  brows,  and  from  thy  shoulders  pure, 
And  bosom  beating  with  a  heart  renewed. 
Thy  cheek  begins  to  redden  thro'  the  gloom. 
Thy  sweet  eyes  brighten  slowly  close  to  mine, 
Ere  yet  they  blind  the  stars,  and  the  wild  team 
Which  love  thee,  yearning  for  thy  yoke,  arise. 
And  shake  the  darkness  from  their  loosened  manes, 
And  beat  the  twilight  into  flakes  of  fire. 

Lo!  ever  thus  thou  growest  beautiful 
In  silence,  then  before  thine  answer  given 
Departest,  and  thy  tears  are  on  my  cheek. 

Why  wilt  thou  ever  scare  me  with  thy  tears. 
And  make  me  tremble  lest  a  saying  learnt. 
In  days  far-ofF,  on  that  dark  earth,  be  true.'' 
"  The  Gods  themselves  cannot  recall  their  gifts." 

Ay  me!  ay  me!  with  what  another  heart 
In  days  far-off,  and  with  what  other  eyes 
I  used  to  watch — if  I  be  he  that  watch'd — 
The  lucid  outline  forming  round  thee;  saw 


4i6  TITHONUS 

The  dim  curls  kindle  into  sunny  rings; 
Changed  with  thy  mystic  change,  and  felt  my  blood 
Glow  with  the  glow  that  slowly  crimsoned  all 
Thy  presence  and  thy  portals,  while  I  lay, 
Mouth,  forehead,  eyelids,  growing  dewy-warm 
With  kisses  balmier  than  half-opening  buds 
Of  April,  and  could  hear  the  lips  that  kiss'd 
Whispering  I  knew  not  what  of  wild  and  sweet, 
Like  that  strange  song  I  heard  Apollo  sing, 
While  Ilion  like  a  mist  rose  into  towers. 

Yet  hold  me  not  for  ever  in  thine  East: 
How  can  my  nature  longer  mix  with  thine? 
Coldly  thy  rosy  shadows  bathe  me,  cold 
Are  all  thy  lights,  and  cold  my  wrinkled  feet 
Upon  thy  glimmering  thresholds,  when  the  steam 
Floats  up  from  those  dim  fields  about  the  homes 
Of  happy  men  that  have  the  power  to  die, 
And  grassy  barrows  of  the  happier  dead. 
Release  me,  and  restore  me  to  the  ground; 
Thou  seest  all  things,  thou  wilt  see  my  grave: 
Thou  wilt  renew  thy  beauty  morn  by  morn; 
I  earth  in  earth  forget  these  empty  courts, 
And  thee  returning  on  thy  silver  wheels. 


LAODAMIA' 

(Wordsworth.) 

"  With  sacrifice  before  the  rising  morn 

Vows  have  I  made,  by  fruitless  hope  inspired; 

And  from  the  infernal  gods,  mid  shades  forlorn, 

Of  night,  my  slaughtered  lord  have  I  required: 

Celestial  pity  I  again  implore; 

Restore  him  to  my  sight — great  Jove,  restore!"         * 

So  speaking,  and  by  fervent  love  endowed 

With  faith,  the  suppliant  heavenward  lifts  her  hands; 

While,  like  the  sun  emerging  from  a  cloud. 

Her  countenance  brightens,  and  her  eye  expands; 

Her  bosom  heaves  and  spreads,  her  stature  grows; 

And  she  expects  the  issue  in  repose. 

O  terror!  what  hath  she  perceived.?     O  joy! 
What  doth  she  look  on.?  whom  doth  she  behold? 
Her  hero  slain  upon  the  beach  of  Troy.? 
His  vital  presence — his  corporeal  mould.? 
It  is — if  sense  deceive  her  not — *tis  he! 
And  a  god  leads  him — wingfed  Mercury! 

Mild  Hermes  spake — and  touched  her  with  his  wand 
That  calms  all  fear:  "Such  grace  hath  crowned  thy 
prayer, 

1  See  page  237. 
417 


41 8  LAODAMIA 

Laodamia!  that  at  Jove's  command 
Thy  husband  walks  the  paths  of  upper  air: 
He  comes  to  tarry  with  thee  three  hours'  space; 
Accept  the  gift — behold  him  face  to  facel" 

Forth  sprang  the  impassioned  queen  her  lord  to  clasp, 

Again  that  consummation  she  essayed; 

But  unsubstantial  form  eludes  her  grasp 

As  often  as  that  eager  grasp  was  made. 

The  phantom  parts — but  parts  to  re-unite, 

And  re-assume  his  place  before  her  sight. 


"  Protesilaus,  lo!  thy  guide  is  gone! 
Confirm,  I  pray,  the  vision  with  thy  voice: 
This  is  our  palace — yonder  is  thy  throne: 
Speak,  and  the  floor  thou  tread'st  on  will  rejoice. 
Not  to  appal  me  have  the  gods  bestowed 
This  precious  boon — and  blessed  a  sad  abode." 

"  Great  Jove,  Laodamia,  doth  not  leave 
His  gifts  imp.erfect:  spectre  though  I  be, 
I  am  not  sent  to  scare  thee  or  deceive; 
But  in  reward  of  thy  fidelity. 
And  something  also  did  my  worth  obtain; 
For  fearless  virtue  bringeth  boundless  gain. 

"  Thou  know'st,  the  Delphic  oracle  foretold 

That  the  first  Greek  that  touched  the  Trojan  strand 

Should  die;  but  me  the  threat  could  not  withhold: 

A  generous  cause  a  victim  did  demand; 

And  forth  I  leapt  upon  the  sandy  plain; 

A  self-devoted  chief — by  Hector  slain," 


LAODAMIA  4.19 

"  Supreme  of  heroes — bravest,  noblest,  best! 

Thy  matchless  courage  I  bewail  no  more, 

Which  then,  when  tens  of  thousands  were  depressed 

By  doubt,  propelled  thee  to  the  fatal  shore; 

Thou  found'st — and  I  forgive  thee — here  thou  art — 

A  nobler  counsellor  than  my  poor  heart. 

"  But  thou,  though  capable  of  sternest  deed, 

Wert  kind  as  resolute,  and  good  as  brave; 

And  he,  whose  power  restores  thee,  hath  decreed 

That  thou  should'st  cheat  the  malice  of  the  grave; 

Redundant  are  thy  locks,  thy  lips  as  fair 

As  when  their  breath  enriched  Thessalian  air. 

"  No  spectre  greets  me,  no  vain  shadow  this: 
Come,  blooming  hero,  place  thee  by  my  side! 
Give,  on  this  well-known  couch,  one  nuptial  kiss 
To  me,  this  day  a  second  time  thy  bride!" 
Jove  frowned  in  heaven;  the  conscious  Parcae  threw 
Upon  those  roseate  lips  a  Stygian  hue. 

"  This  visage  tells  thee  that  my  doom  is  past: 
Know,  virtue  were  not  virtue  if  the  joys 
Of  sense  were  able  to  return  as  fast 
And  surely  as  they  vanish.     Earth  destroys 
Those  raptures  duly — Erebus  disdains: 
Calm  pleasures  there  abide — majestic  pains. 

"  Be  taught,  O  faithful  consort,  to  control 
Rebellious  passion;  for  the  gods  approve 
The  depth,  and  not  the  tumult,  of  the  soul: 
A  fervent,  not  ungovernable  love. 
Thy  transports  moderate;  and  meekly  mourn 
When  I  depart,  for  brief  is  my  sojourn," 


420  LAODAMIA 

"Ah,  wnerefore?     Did  not  Hercules  by  force 
Wrest  from  the  guardian  monster  of  the  tomb 
Alcestis,  a  re-animated  corse, 
Given  back  to  dwell  on  earth  in  vernal  bloom? 
Medea's  spells  dispersed  the  weight  of  years. 
And  -^son  stood  a  youth  mid  youthful  peers. 

"  The  gods  to  us  are  merciful — and  they 

Yet  further  may  relent:  for  mightier  far 

Than  strength  of  nerve  and  sinew,  or  the  sway 

Of  magic  potent  over  sun  and  star, 

Is  love,  though  oft  to  agony  distressed. 

And  though  his  favourite  seat  be  feeble  woman's  breast. 

"But  if  thou  goest  I  follow — "  "Peace!"  he  said — 

She  looked  upon  him  and  was  calmed  and  cheered; 

The  ghastly  colour  from  his  lips  had  fled; 

In  his  deportment,  shape,  and  mien,  appeared 

Elysian  beauty,  melancholy  grace. 

Brought  from  a  pensive,  though  a  happy  place. 

He  spake  of  love,  such  love  as  spirits  feel 
In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure; 
No  fears  to  beat  away — no  strife  to  heal — 
The  past  unsighed  for,  and  the  future  sure: 
Spake  of  heroic  arts  in  graver  mood 
Revived,  with  finer  harmony  pursued: 

Of  all  that  is  most  beauteous — imaged  there 

In  happier  beauty;  more  pellucid  streams, 

An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air. 

And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams; 

Climes  which  the  sun,  who  sheds  the  brightest  day 

Earth  knows,  is  all  unworthy  to  survey. 


LAODAMIA  421 

Yet  there  the  soul  shall  enter  which  hath  earned 
That  privilege  by  virtue.     "  111/*  said  he, 
"  The  end  of  man's  existence  I  discerned, 
Who  from  ignoble  games  and  revelry- 
Could  draw,  when  we  had  parted,  vain  delight 
While  tears  were  thy  best  pastime,  day  and  night: 

"  And  while  my  youthful  peers,  before  my  eyes, 
(Each  hero  following  his  peculiar  bent) 
Prepared  themselves  for  glorious  enterprise 
By  martial  sports,  or,  seated  in  the  tent, 
Chieftains  and  kings  in  council  were  detained; 
What  time  the  fleet  at  Aulis  lay  enchained. 

"  The  wished-for  wind  was  given;  I  then  revolved 
The  oracle,  upon  the  silent  sea; 
And,  if  no  worthier  led  the  way,  resolved 
That,  of  a  thousand  vessels,  mine  should  be 
The  foremost  prow  in  pressing  to  the  strand. 
Mine  the  first  blood  that  tinged  the  Trojan  sand. 

"  Yet  bitter,  ofttimes  bitter,  was  the  pang 

When  of  thy  loss  I  thought,  beloved  wife! 

On  thee  too  fondly  did  my  memory  hang. 

And  on  the  joys  we  shared  in  mortal  life, 

The   paths    which   we    had    trod — these    fountains — 

flowers ; 
My  new-planned  cities,  and  unfinished  towers. 

"  But  should  suspense  permit  the  foe  to  cry, 
*  Behold,  they  tremble!  haughty  their  array, 
Yet  of  their  number  no  one  dares  to  die!' 
In  soul  I  swept  the  indignity  away: 
Old  frailties  then  recurred:  but  lofty  thought, 
In  act  embodied,  my  deliverance  wrought. 


422  LAODAMIA 

"  And  thou,  though  strong  in  love,  art  all  too  weak 

In  reason,  in  self-government  too  slow; 

I  counsel  thee  by  fortitude  to  seek 

Our  blest  re-union  in  the  shades  below. 

The  invisible  world  with  thee  hath  sympathized; 

Be  thy  affections  raised  and  solemnized. 

"  Learn  by  a  mortal  yearning  to  ascend 
Towards  a  higher  object.     Love  was  given. 
Encouraged,  sanctioned,  chiefly  for  that  end: 
For  this  the  passion  to  excess  was  driven — 
That  self  might  be  annulled:  her  bondage  prove 
The  fetters  of  a  dream,  opposed  to  love.'* 

Aloud  she  shrieked!  for  Hermes  reappears! 

Round  the  dear  shade  she  would  have  clung — *t  is  vain. 

The  hours  are  past — too  brief  had  they  been  years; 

And  him  no  mortal  effort  can  detain: 

Swift,  toward  the  realms  that  know  not  earthly  day, 

He  through  the  portal  takes  his  silent  way. 

And  on  the  palace  floor  a  lifeless  corse  she  lay. 

By  no  weak  pity  might  the  gods  be  moved; 
She  who  thus  perished,  not  without  the  crime 
Of  lovers  that  in  reason's  spite  have  loved, 
Was  doomed  to  wander  in  a  grosser  clime. 
Apart  from  happy  ghosts — that  gather  flowers 
Of  blissful  quiet  mid  unfading  bowers. 

Yet  tears  to  human  suflTering  are  due; 
And  mortal  hopes  defeated  and  overthrown 
Are  mourned  by  man,  and  not  by  man  alone, 
As  fondly  he  believes.     Upon  the  side 
Of  Hellespont  (such  faith  was  entertained) 
A  knot  of  spiry  trees  for  ages  grew 


LAODAMIA  423 

From  out  the  tomb  of  him  for  whom  she  died: 
And  ever,  when  such  stature  they  had  gained 
That  Ilium's  walls  were  subject  to  their  view, 
The  trees*  tall  summits  withered  at  the  sight; 
A  constant  interchange  of  growth  and  blightl 


ARETHUSA* 

CShelley.) 

Arethusa  arose 

From  her  couch  of  snows 
In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains,— 

From  cloud  and  from  crag, 

With  many  a  jag, 
Shepherding  her  bright  fountains. 

She  leapt  down  the  rocks 

With  her  rainbow  locks 
Streaming  among  the  streams: — 

Her  steps  paved  with  green 

The  downward  ravine 
Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams: 

And  gliding  and  springing. 

She  went,  ever  singing. 
In  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep; 

The  Earth  seemed  to  love  her, 

And  Heaven  smiled  above  her, 
As  she  lingered  towards  the  deep. 

Then  Alpheus  bold. 

On  his  glacier  cold. 
With  his  trident  the  mountains  strook; 

And  opened  a  chasm 

In  the  rocks; — with  the  spasm 
All  Erymanthus  shook. 

And  the  black  south  wind 

It  concealed  behind 

1  Arethuia  it  the  fountain  nymph  alluded  to  in  the  story  of  Persephone  (p.  124), 

484 


ARETHUSA  4^5 

The  urns  of  the  silent  snow, 

And  earthquake  and  thunder 

Did  rend  in  sunder 
The  bars  of  the  springs  below: 

The  beard  and  the  hair 

Of  the  river  God  were 
Seen  through  the  torrent's  sweep, 

As  he  followed  the  light 

Of  the  fleet  nymph's  flight 
To  the  brink  of  the  Dorian  deep. 

"  Oh,  save  me  I     Oh,  guide  me! 

And  bid  the  deep  hide  me. 
For  he  grasps  me  now  by  the  hairT* 

The  loud  Ocean  heard. 

To  its  blue  depths  stirred, 
And  divided  at  her  prayer; 

And  under  the  water 

The  Earth's  white  daughter 
Fled  like  a  sunny  beam; 

Behind  her  descended, 

Her  billows,  unblended 
With  the  brackish  Dorian  stream: — 

Like  a  gloomy  stain 

On  the  emerald  main 
Alpheus  rushed  behind, — 

As  an  eagle  pursuing 

A  dove  to  its  ruin 
Down  the  stream  of  the  cloudy  wind. 

Under  the  bowers 
Where  the  Ocean  Powers 
Sit  on  their  pearled  thrones; 


426  ARETHJSA 

Through  the  coral  woods 
Of  the  weltering  floods, 

Over  heaps  of  unvalued  stones: 
Through  the  dim  beams 
Which  amid  the  streams 

Weave  a  net- work  of  coloured  light; 
And  under  the  caves, 
Where  the  shadowy  waves 

Are  as  green  as  the  forest's  night: — 
Outspeeding  the  shark. 
And  the  sword-fish  dark, 

Under  the  ocean  foam, 

And  up  through  the  rifts 
Of  the  mountain  clifts 

They  passed  to  their  Dorian  home. 

And  now  on  their  fountains 

In  Enna's  mountains, 
Down  one  vale  where  the  morning  basks 

Like  friends  once  parted 

Grown  single-hearted, 
They  ply  their  watery  tasks. 

At  sun-rise  they  leap 

From  their  cradle  steep 
In  caves  of  the  shelving  hill; 

At  noon-tide  they  flow 

Through  the  woods  below 
And  the  meadows  of  Asphodel; 

And  at  night  they  sleep 

In  the  rocking  deep 
Beneath  the  Ortygian  shore; — 

Like  spirits  that  lie 

In  the  azure  sky 
When  they  love  but  live  no  more. 


CUPID'S   TRICK 

(Anacreon — translated  hy  T.  Moore.) 

'T  was  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 
The  sullen  Bear  is  seen  to  roll; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day. 
Are  slumbering  all  their  cares  away: 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour, 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower. 
And  wak'd  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  shield  him  from  the  midnight  air. 
*'  And  who  art  thou,"  I  waking  cry, 
"That  bid'st  my  blissful  visions  fly?" 
"  Ah,  gentle  sire! "  the  infant  said, 
"  In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed; 
Nor  fear  deceit:  a  lonely  child 
I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 
Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 
Illumes  the  drear  and  misty  way!  *' 

I  heard  the  baby's  tale  of  woe; 

I  heard  the  bitter  night-winds  blow. 

And  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 

I  trimm'd  my  lamp  and  op'd  the  gate. 

'T  was  Love!  the  little  wandering  sprite, 

His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night. 

1  Icnew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart; 

I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering  heart. 

427 


428  CUPID'S   TRICK 

Fondly  I  take  him  in,  and  raise 
The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze; 
Press  from  his  dank  and  clinging  hair 
The  crystals  of  the  freezing  air, 
And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  hold 
His  little  fingers  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 
Had  warm'd  his  anxious  fears  away; 
"  I  pray  thee,"  said  the  wanton  child, 
(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smil'd,) 
"  I  pray  thee  let  me  try  my  bow. 
For  through  the  rain  I  've  wander'd  so, 
That  much  I  fear,  the  midnight  shower 
Has  injur'd  its  elastic  power." 
The  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew: 
Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew; 
As  swiftly  flew  as  glancing  flame, 
And  to  my  inmost  spirit  came! 
"  Fare  thee  well,"  I  heard  him  say. 
As  laughing  wild  he  wing'd  away; 
"  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  I  know 
The  rain  has  not  relax'd  my  bow; 
It  still  can  send  a  thrilling  dart. 
As  thou  shalt  own  with  all  thy  heart!" 


(C288) 


Photograph  by  Autotype  Fine  Art  Co.,  Ltd. 

PANDORA 
By  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

(See  page  17) 


Photograph  by  Woodbury  Company 

SIBYLLA   DELPHICA 
By  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones 


Photograph  by  Giraudon,  Paris 

ZEUS   (JUPITER) 

From  the  sculpture  in  the  Louvre,  Paris 

(See  page  29) 


THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS 
From  the  statue  in  the  Louvre,  Paris 


Photograph  by  Alinari 


(See  page  38) 


Photograph  by  Al!iiari 

HERMES   CARRYING   DIONYSUS 
From  the  statue  by  Praxiteles.     Found  at  Olympia  in  1877 

(See  page  44) 


PAN 
From  the  sculpture  by  Henry  A.  Pegram,  A.R.A.     By  permission  of  the  artist 

(See  page  55) 


>«. 

i' 

7  '^''■'' 

'., 

^I^B 

'f 

■,  'y^ 

4 

itI 

!3n 

h&.ii 

Photoip-apli  l.y  \V.  A.  Maus 

HERCULES  AND   THE   BOAR 

From  the  bronze  by  Jean  de  Bologne  in  the  Louvre,  Paris 

(See  page  104) 


Pliotograph  by  Miss  CasMall  Smith 

THE   GARDEN   OF   THE   HESPERIDES 

By  Sir  Edxvard  Burne-Jones 

(See  page  109) 


I 


ORPHEUS  AND   EURYDICE 
By  G.  F.  Watts,  R.A 


Photograph  by  Fred.  Hollyer 


(See  page  127) 


PROMETHEUS 
From  the  sculpture  by  Puget 


(See  page  158) 


THE   LAMENT  FOR   ICARUS 

From  the  painting  by  Herbert  J.  Draper  in  the  National  {Tate)  Gallery  of  British  Art 
By  permission  of  the  artist 

(See  page  183) 


(C288) 


GEDIPUS  AT  COLONOS 
From  the  sculpture  by  Hugues  in  the  Luxembourg,  Paris 


(See  page  206) 


Photograph  by  Art  Illustration  and  Keproduction  Co. 

ANTIGONE   STREWING   DUST  ON  THE   BODY  OF  POLYNEICES 
From  the  painting  by  Victor  J.  Robertson.     By  permission  of  the  artist 

(See  page  209) 


20 


i 

i 

1 

L 

r 

By  permis.«lon  of  the  Berlin  Photographic  Company 

THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS 
From  the  painting  by  Solomon  J.  Solomon,  R.A. 

(See  page  225 


U  .2 
<  .5 

O    ^ 

Q  ^" 


Photograph  by  Levy  TO* 


NEPTUNE 
From  the  sculpture  by  Adam  in  the  Louvre,  Paris 


(See  page  269) 


LAOCOON   AND   HIS   SONS 
From  the  sculpture  in  the  Vatican  Museum,  Rome 


Photograph  by  Alinari 


(See  page  275) 


i 


O  J 


W  R 

Pi  -2 

CO  I 

Q  . 

CO  i^ 

CO  *- 


Photograph  by  Braun,  Clement,  tt  Cie. 

THE   RETURN   OF   ULYSSES 
From  the  painting  by  L.  F.  Schutzenberger 

(See  page  340) 


28 


PENELOPE 
After  the  statue  by  R.  J.  Wyatt  in  the  possession  of  the  late  Queen  Victoria 

(See  page  345) 


^ 


INDEX 


WITH  PRONUNCIATION  OF  NAMES    ACCORDING 
TO   ENGLISH   USAGE 

[The  method  of  transliteration  here  used  is  based  on  that  adopted  in  TTie  Im- 
perial Dictionary  of  the  English  Language,  as  follows: — a  as  in  man,  except 
often  when  followed  by  r  in  same  syllable,  when  it  is  as  a  in  far;  a  long-,  or  as  in 
matte;  au  as  in  cause;  e  as  in  m.et;  e  as  in  mete;  i  as  in  in\  «  as  in  mine',  o 
short,  or  as  m.  ott',  o  long,  or  as  in  ^:  i^  as  in  us\  H  as  in  ttse.] 


Abderus  (ab-de'rus),  companion  of 
Hercules,  io6. 

Absyrtus  (ab-sir'tus),  brother  of  Medea, 
158,  166. 

Abydos  (a-bi'dos).  town  on  the  Helles- 
pont, 367. 

Acarnan  (a-kar'nan),  son  ot  Alcmseon, 
216. 

Acarnania  (a-kar-na'ni-a),  217. 

Acastus  (a-kas'tus),  son  of  Pelias,  153. 

Achseans  (a-ke'anz),  the,  6. 

Achelous  (a-ke-lo'us),  river,  215. 

—  river  god,  47,  115,  216. 

Acheron  (a'ker-on),  river  of  Hades,  25. 

—  river  of  the  Euxine,  157. 
Achilles  (a-kil'lez),  son  of  Peleus  and 

Thetis,  26,  232,  238,  269,  312. 
Acis  (a'sis),  lover  of  Galatea,  66. 
Acrisius  (a-kris'i-us),  king  of  Argos,  75. 
Acropolis  (a-krop'o-lis)  of  Athens,  the, 

88. 
Actseon  (ak-te'on),  36. 
Admetus  (ad-me'tus),  king  in  Thessaly, 

118,  153. 
Adonis  (a-d5'nis),  39. 
Adrastus  (a-dras'tus),   king  of  Argos, 

206. 

—  refugee  at  Sardis   ^88. 

re  288)  ■ 


^acus  (e'a-kus),  judge  in  Hades,  27. 
Aedon  (a-e'don),  wife  of  Zethus,  66. 
^etes  (e-et'ez),  king  of  Colchis,  I52j 

158. 
JEgesLU  (e-je'an)  Sea,  or  Archipelago, 

the,  75,  186,  283. 
^geus  (e'jus),  king  of  Athens,  177. 
-(Egis  (e'jis)  ot  Athene,  the,  85. 
^gisthus  (e-jis'thus),  paramour  of  Cly» 

temnestra,  284. 
^neas  (e-ne'as),  son-in-law  of  Priam, 

234,  248,  263,  276,  281. 
^neid  (e'ne-id  or  e-ne'id),  the,  61,  281. 
i^olus  (e'o-lus),  king  ot  the  Winds,  53, 

304. 
^sculapius  (es-ku-la'pi-us),  33. 
/Eson  (e'son),  king  of  lolcos,  148. 
^thra    (eth'ra),    mother    of    Theseus, 

177. 
^tolia  (e-tol'i-a),  90. 
Africa  (afri-ka),  21,  IIO,  167. 
Agamemnon   (a-ga-mem'non),  king  oi 

Argos,  231,  240,  283,  311,  401. 
Agelaus  (a-je-la'us)j  suitor  ot  Penelope, 

353. 
Agenor  (a-je'nor),  king  of  Tyre,  192. 
Ages  oj  Matty  the^  18. 
Aglaia  (a-glai'a)j  one  of  the  Graces,  40 

16 


43° 


INDEX 


Agraulos  (a-graulos),  daughter  of  Ce- 

crops,  45. 
Ajax  (a'jaks),  the  Greater,  238,  252, 

257,  270,  312,  401. 

—  the  Less,  257. 
Alcestis  (al-ses'tis),  1 18. 

Alcinous  (al-sin'o-us),  king  of  the  Phae- 
acians,  324. 

Alcmseon  (alk-me'on),  son  of  Amphi- 
araus,  208,  214. 

Alcmene  (alk-me'ne),  mother  ot  Her- 
cules, 98. 

Alecto  (a-lek'to),  a  Fury,  54. 

Alexander  (a-legz-an'der),  a  false  pro- 
phet, 9. 

—  alias  of  Paris  (see),  227. 

—  the  Great,  21,  24,  58,  60,  icd6. 
Alpheus  (al-fe'us),  river,  61,  105. 

—  river  god,  124,  424. 

Althaea  (al-the'a),  mother  of  Meleager, 

90. 
Amasis  (a-ma'sis),  king  of  Egypt,  384. 
Amazons  (am'a-zons),   the,    106,    142, 

187,  268. 
^mbrosia  (am-brS'zi-a),  food  of  the 

gods,  33. 
American  folklore^  2,  23. 
Ammon  (am'mcn).     See  Jupiter  Am- 

mon. 
Amphiaraus    (am-fi-a-ra'us),   the   seer, 

207. 
Amphinomus  (am-fin'o-mus),  suitor  of 

Penelope,  344,  359- 
Amphion   (am-fi'on),  king  of  Thebes, 

197,  199- 
Amphitrite  (am-fi-til'te),  wife  of  Nep- 
tune, 47. 
Amphitryon    (am  -  fit '  ri  -  on),    king   of 

Tiryns,  98. 
Amphoterus    (am  -  fot '  er  -  us),    son    of 

Alcmaeon,  216. 
Anacreon  (a-nak're-6n),  60,  427. 
Ananke  (a-nan'ke),  52,  399. 
Anchises  (an-ki'sez),  father  of  -^neas, 

279. 
Androgeos  (an-drog'e-Os),  son  of  Minos, 
65,  102. 


Andromache  (an-dro'ma-k5),  wifie  of 
Hector,  250,  266. 

Andromeda  (an-dro'me-da),  8a 

Animal'ivorshipi  8, 

Antaeus  (an-te'us),  giant  of  Africa,  I  la 

Antea  (an-te'a),  queen  of  Argos,  139. 

Anteros  (an'ter-6s),  40. 

Anticleia  (an  -  ti  -  klei '  a),  mother  of 
Odysseus,  310. 

Antigone  (an  -  tig '  o  -  ne),  daughter  of 
CEdipus,  28,  203,  209. 

Antilochus  (an-til'o-kus),  son  of  Nestov, 
260. 

Antinous  (an-tin'o-us),  Hadrian's  fa- 
vourite, temple  of,  58. 

—  suitor  of  Penelope,  342,  358. 
Antiope  (an-ti'o-pe  or  an-te'o-pe),  heiress 

of  Thebes,  197. 
Aphrodite  (af-ro-dl'te)  (Venus),  15,  38, 

96,  228,  247,  369,  394. 
Apollo  (a-pol'lo),  33,  69,  118,  134,  173, 

198,  225,  289,  &c. 

—  Oracles  ofy  22,  23,  174,  &c. 
Apollodorus  (a-pol-lo-do'rus),  13. 
Apollonius  (a-pol-lo'ni-us)  of  Rhodes, 

61. 
Apple^  the  golden^  of  strife ^  227. 
Apuleius  (a-pu-le'ius),  13,  40,  381. 
Arachne  (a-rak'ne),  38,  87. 
Arcadia  (ar-ka'di-a),  6,  8,  55,  289. 
Archilochus    (ar-kil'o-kus),    an    early 

poet,  60. 
Archipelago  (ar-ki-pel'a-go),  the^  islands 

ofySgean  Sea^  75,  &c. 
Ardiaeus  (ar-di-e'us),  the  tyrant,  399. 
Areopagus  (a-re-op'a-gus),  the,  44,  294 
Ares  (a'rez)  (Mars),  43,  196,  248,  &c. 
Arete    (a-re'te),    queen    of    Alcinous, 

327. 
Arethusa  (a-re-thu'sa),  nymph  changed 

to  fountain,  124,  424. 
Argia  (ar-ji'a),  daughter  of  King  Ad- 

rastus,  207. 
Argo  (ar'go),  the,  67,  1 53. 
Argolis  (ar'go-lis).     See  Argos, 
Argonautica  (ar-go-nau'ti-ka)  of  Apol 

loniuSf  the,  61. 


INDEX 


43 » 


Argonauts  (ar'go-nauts;,  expedition  of 

the,  67,  147,  153. 
Argos  (ar'gos),  city  of  Agamemnon,  in 

Argolis,  33,  86,  206,  295. 
Argus  (ar'gus),  hundred-eyed  monster, 

32. 

—  the  dog  of  Ulysses,  10,  34a 

—  the  shipwright,  153. 

Ariadne  (a-ri-ad'ne),  daughter  of  Minos, 

50,  184. 
Arion  (a-ri'on),  60,  144. 
Armour  of  Achilles^  the^  261,  270. 
Arrows  of  HerculeSi  the^  103,  116. 
Arsinoe  (ar-sin'o-e),  wife  of  Alcmaeon, 

215. 
Artemis  (ar'te-mis)  (Diana),  33,  35,  36, 

198,  234,  291,  &c. 
Aryan  invaders^  6,  9. 
Asphodel  (as'fo-del),  flower  qf  the  daffo- 
dil order^  426. 
Ass^s  ears  of  Midas  y  they  135. 
Astarte  (as-tar'te),  38. 
Astraea  (as-tre'a),  the  virgin  star,  53. 
Astyanax  (as-ti'an-ax),  son  of  Hector, 

250. 
Atalanta  (a-tal-an'ta),  91,  95,  401. 
Ate  (a'te),  spirit  of  evil,  52. 
Athene  (a-the'ne)   (Minerva),    11,   37, 

87.  98,  173.  195.  228,  241,  294,  331, 

360,  &c. 
Athens  (a'thenz),  11,  37,  65,  117,  173, 

186,  294. 
Atlantis  (at-lan'tis),  islands  of,  21. 
Atlas  (at'las),  the  giant,  16,  21,  80,  no. 
Atreus  (a'trus),  father  of  Agamemnon, 

284. 
Atrides   (a-tri'dez).      See   Agamemnon 

and  MenelauSf  sons  of  Atreus. 
Atropos  (at'ro-pos),  a  Fate,  54,  400. 
Atys  (at'is),  son  of  Croesus,  387. 
Augean  Stables  (au-je'an),  cleansing  of 

they  105. 
Augeas  (au-je'as),  king  of  Elis,  105. 
Augury^  23. 
Aulis  (au*lis),  harbour  on  the  Euripus, 

234. 
Aurora  (au-ro'ra),  53,  &c.  (see  Eos)^  269.   I 


Australian  mythsy  2. 

Autolycus  (au-tol'i-kus),  the  robber,  45, 

113. 
Automedon   (au-tom'e-don),  charioteer 
of  Achilles,  258. 

Babylon  (bab'i-lon),  169. 

Bacchanalia  (bak-ka-na'li-a),  49. 

Bacchantes  (bak-kan'tez),  the,  49. 

Bacchus  (bakTcus),  49,  &c.  See  Diony- 
sus. 

Balder  (bal'der),  the  Scandinavian  hero, 
26. 

Barbarians^  definition  of  62. 

Baucis  (bau'sis),  wife  of  Philemon,  30. 

Bear^  the  Great  and  the  Little^  30,  50. 

Bebrycians  (beb-rish'i-anz),  people  00 
Black  Sea,  156. 

Bed  of  Procrustes y  the^  180. 

Bellerophon  (bel-ler'o-fon),  139. 

Bellona  (bel-lo'na),  44. 

Biton  (bit'on),  32. 

Boar^  the  Calydonian^  90. 

—  the  Erymanthian^  104. 

—  the  Mysiany  388. 

Boeotia  (be-6'shi-a),  neighbour  country 
of  Attica,  whose  self-satisfied  people 
made  its  name  a  proverb  for  dullness 
of  wit,  194. 

Boreas  (bo're-as),  the  north  wind,  53, 
267. 

Bow  of  OdysseuSy  they  355. 

Brazen  Age,  the,  18. 

Briareus  (bri-ar'us  or  brl'ar-us),  hun- 
dred-handed giant,  16. 

Britons,  the,  22. 

Bucephalus  (bu-sefa-lus),  106. 

Bull  of  Marathon,  the,  106,  182. 

Busiris  (bu-si'ris),  king  of  Egypt,  I  la 

Cacus  (ka  kus),  the  giant,  108. 
"  Cadtnean  Victory,  a",  209. 
Cadmus  (kad'mus),  192. 
Caduceus  (ka-du'se-us),  they  45. 
Calchas  (kal'kas),  Greek  diviner,  234, 

239,  274. 
Caldrony  Medea^Sy  167, 


43* 


INDEX 


Calliope  (kal-iro-pe  or  kal-li'o-pe),  muse 

of  Epic  poetry,  34,   127. 
Callirrhoe   (kal-lir'ho-e),    wife  of  Alc- 

mseon,  216. 
Callisto   (kal-lis'to),  Arcadian  nymph, 

30- 
Calydon  (kal'i-don),  in  ^tolia,  90. 
Calydonian  Boar^  the,  90. 
Calypso  (ka-lip'so),  island  of,  317. 
Cambyses  (kam-bi'sez),  king  of  Persia, 

385. 
Capaneus  (ka'pan-us),  one  of  the  "Seven 

against  Thebes  ",  207. 
Cassandra   (kas-san'dra),    daughter  of 

Priam,  229,  277,  284. 
Cassiope  (kas-si'o-pe),  mother  of  An- 
dromeda, 81. 
Cassiterides    (kas-si-ter'i-dez),    the    tin 

islands,  21. 
Castalian  (kas-ta'li-an),  Spring,  the,  34. 
Castor  (kas'tor),  56,  153,  247. 
Catalogue  of  the  ships ^  Homer' s^  59. 
Cattle  of  the  Sun-gody  315. 
Caucasus  (kau'ka-sus),    Mts.,    17,   21, 

109. 
Cecrops  (sek'rops  or  seTcrops),  mythical 

king  of  Athens,  173. 
Centaurs  (sen'taurz),  the,  104. 
Cephalus  (sefa-lus)  and  Procris  (pro'- 

kris),  413. 
Cepheus  (se'fus),  father  of  Andromeda, 

81. 
Cephissus  (se-fis'sus),  river  god,  218. 
—  river  of  Attica,  181. 
Cerberus  (ser'ber-us),  25,  ill. 
Cercyon  (ser'si-on),  tyrant  of  Eleusis, 

179. 
Ceres  (se'rez  or  ser'ez),  41,  &c.      See 

Demeter. 
Cerynitis  (ser-in-i'tis),  a  sacred  stag,  103. 
Cestus  (ses'tus),  the  girdle  of  Aphrodite ^ 

38. 
Ceyx  (se'ix),  husband  of  Halcyone,  48. 
Chalciope  (kal-si'o-pe),  sister  of  Medea, 

158. 
Chalybes   (kal'i-b€z),   a    race   of  iron 

forgers,  157. 


Chaos  (ka'os),  14. 

Charaxus  (ka-rax'us),  brother  of  Sappho, 

393. 
Charites  (ka'ri-tez),  the  Graces ^  40. 
Charon  (kar'on),  25. 
Charybdis  (kar-ib'dis),  47,  314. 
Cheiron  (kir'on),  the  Centaur,  99,  I04» 

147,  232. 
Chimsera  (ki-me'ra),  the,  140. 
Chios  (ki'os),  island  of,  393. 
Chloris  (klor'is),  flower  goddess,  53. 
Choice  of  Hercules^  the^  66,  100. 
Christianity^    influence    of    on    Grttk 

mythology y  13,  28. 
Chrysaor  (kri-sa'or),  giant,  107. 
Chryseis  (kri-se'is),  daughter  of  Chryses, 

priest  of  Apollo,  239. 
Cicons  (sik'ons),  the,  297. 
Cilicia    (sil-ish'i-a),   country    of  Asia 

Minor,  193. 
Cilix  (sil'ix),  brother  of  Cadmus,  193. 
Cimmerians  (sim-mer'i-anz),  the,  2 1 ,  309 
Circe  (sir'se),  the  enchantress,  305. 
Cithseron     (sith  -  e '  ron),      Mt.,     near 

Thebes,  197,  200. 
Cleobis  (kle'o-bis),  32. 
Clio  (kll'o),  muse  of  history,  34. 
Clotho  (klo'tho),  a  Fate,  54,  399. 
Clue  of  AriadrUy  the,  184. 
Clymene  (klim'en-e),  mother  of  Phae- 

thon,  69. 
Clytemnestra(kli-tem-nes'traor-nes'tra), 

wife  of  Agamemnon,  231,  283. 
Cnidus  (ni'dus),  shrine  of  Venus,  369. 
Cocytus  (ko-sl'tus),  river  of  tears,  25, 

310. 
Colchis  (kol'kis),  part  of  Asia,  152. 
Colonos  (ko-l6n'os),  temple  near  Athens, 

206. 
Colossus  (ko-los'sus)  of  Rhodes,  the,  34. 
Comus  (ko'mus),  51. 
Core  (ko're),  "the  maiden",  by-name 

of  Persephone,  41. 
Corinth  (ko'rinth),  46,  145,  179. 
Cornucopia  (kor-nu-co'pi-a),  the,  5 1. 
Coronis  (ko-ro'nis),  35. 
Cosmogony y  Grecian,  14,  27. 


INDEX 


433 


Cranes  of  Ibycus^  ttu,  23. 
Cremation^  practice  of  28. 
Creon  (kre'on),   father-in-law  of  Her- 
cules, 10 1. 

—  king  of  Corinth,  168. 

—  ruler  of  Thebes,  27,  202,  209.  ( Creon 
means  "ruler",  hence  a  common 
name  of  kings. ) 

Crete  (kret  or  kre'te),  6,  9,  65,   106, 

167,  183,  193. 
Creusa  (kre-u'sa),  mother  of  Ion,  173. 

—  wife  of  ^neas,  279. 

Croesus  (kre'sus),  king  of  Lydia,  387. 
Cronos  (kron'os)  (Saturn),  14. 
Ctesippus  (te-sip'pus),  suitor  of  Pene- 

lope,  353- 
Cupid    (ku'pid),    39,    427,    &c.      See 

Eros. 
Cupid  and  Psyche  (si'ke),  369. 
Cybele  (sib'el-e),  15,  97. 
Cyclopes  (si-klo'pez),  14,  43,  298. 
Cygnus  (sig'nus),  74,  269. 
Cyprus  (sl'prus),  38. 
Cyrus  (si'rus),  king  of  Persia,  387. 
Cythera  (si-the'ra),  isle  of,  38,  369. 
Cyzicus  (siz'i-kus),  king  of  the  Doliones, 

154. 

Dsedalus  (de'da-lus),   famous  artificers 

183. 
Daimon  (di'mon),  guardian  spirit,  52. 
Damon  and  Pythias  (da'mon,  pith'i-as), 

286,  403. 
Danae  (dan'a-e),  75. 
Danaides  (dan-a'i-dez),  the,  daughters 

of  Danaus  (dan'a-us),  128. 
Daphne  (dafne),  35,  222. 
Dardanus    (dar'da-nus),   father  of  the 

Trojans  and  the  Dardanians,  225. 
Deaiky  Greek  views  of  25. 

—  personified y  53,  118. 

Deianira  (de-i-an-ir'a),  wife  of  Hercules, 

IIS- 

Deidamia    (de-i-dam«i'a),    bride   of 

AchilleSj  270. 
Deiphobus    (de-if  o-bus),    brother    of 

Hector,  265. 


Deiphyle  (de-ifi-l6),  daughter  of  King 

Adrastus,  207. 
Delos  (de'los),  ^t^. 
Delphi  (del'fi),  oracle  of,   15,  22,  33, 

61,  63,  114,  173,  194,  201,  287,  387, 

&c. 
Deluge^    classical    story    of    the^    20, 

73- 
Demeter   (de-me'ter)   (Ceres),    15,   30, 

123,  &c. 
Demigods,  56. 
Demodocus  (de-mod'o-kus),    Phaeacian 

bard,  329. 
Demophoon    (de-mo'fo-6n),   son    of 

Theseus,  117,  222. 
Deucalion  (du-kal'i-on),  20. 
Diana  (di-an'a  or  di-a'na),   36.      See 

Artemis, 
Dicte  (dik'te),  Mt.,  of  Crete,  15. 
Dictys  (dik'tis),  fisherman  of  Seriphus, 

IS- 

Didjmia  (did'i-ma),  oracle  of,  23. 

Dike  (diTce)  (Justice),  52,  53. 

Diomede  (di'o-med),  248,  254. 

Diomedes  (di  -  o  -  me  -  dez),  Thracian 
chief,  106. 

Dione  (di'o-ne  or  di-o'ne),  mother  ot 
Aphrodite,  41. 

Dionysia  (di-o-nlz'i-a),  the,  49. 

Dionysius  (di-o-niz'i-us),  tyrant  of  Syra- 
cuse, 403. 

Dionysus  (di-o-ni'sus)  (Bacchus),  II, 
49,  132,  186,  &c. 

Dioscuri  (dl-os-ku'ri),  the,  56. 

Dirce  (dir'se),  queen  of  Thebes,  197, 

Dis  (des),  48.     See  Hades. 

Dodona  (do-do'na),  oracle  of,  22,  31, 

153. 
Doliones  (do-li'o-nez),  a  people  of  the 

Propontis,  154. 
Dolon  (dol'on),  Trojan  spy,  256. 
Dolphin  of  Ariony  the  (dol'fin,  ar-i'on), 

145- 
Dorians  (dor'i-anz),  the,  6,  176. 
Dorus    (dor'us),   mythical    ancestor   0/ 

the  Dorians,  176. 
Dragon  of  the  Hesperides,  the,  8a 


4-34 


INDEX 


Dragon's  teeth  sown  by  Cadmus^  195. 

Jason^  162. 

DramUy  origin  of  the  Athenian^  49. 
Dreams^  personified^  53,  350. 
Dryads  (dri'adz),  55,  222,  409. 
Dryope  (dri'o-pe),  legend  of,  222. 
Dyaus  (di'aus),  Aryan  sky-god,  9. 

EagUy  the  minister  of  Zeus^  29. 

Earth-spirits y  9. 

Echo  (ek'o),  legend  of,  218,  413. 

Eclipses^  24. 

Egypt,  no,  390,  393. 

Electra  (e-lek'tra),  daughter  of  Oceanus, 

47. 
—  sister  of  Orestes,  285. 
Eleusinian  (el-u-sin'i-an)  mysteries,  the, 

41. 
Eleusis  (el-u'sis),  near  Athens,  in,  126, 

179. 
Elis  (e'lis),  state  of  the  Peloponnesus, 

61,  105. 
Elpenor  (el-pe'nor),  companion  of  Odys 

seus,  309. 
Elysian  (e-liz'i-an)  fields,  the,  26,  4CX). 
Endymion  (en-dim'i-on),  36. 
Enna  (en'na),  Vale  of,  41,  123. 
Eos  (e'os)  (Aurora),  53,  70,  414. 
Epaminondas  (e-pam-in-on'das"),  24. 
Epeus  (e-pe'us),  maker  of  the  Trojan 

Horse,  401. 
Ephesus  (ef  e-sus),  temple  of  Diana  at, 

36. 
Epidaurus  (ep-i-daur'us),  in  Argolis,  178. 
Epigoni  (e-pig'o-ni),  sons  of  the  **  Seven 

against  Thebes",  214. 
Epimetheus  (ep-i-me'thus),  17. 
Er  among  the  dead,  398. 
Erato  (er'a-to),  muse  of  love  song,  34. 
Erechtheus  (e-rek'thus),  mythical  king 

of  Athens,  173. 
Eridanus  (e-rid'an-us),  river  nymphs  of 

the,  74,  109. 
Erigone  (e-rig'o-ne),  daughter  of  Icarius, 

50- 
Erinyes  (er  -  in '  i  -  6z),  the,  54.      See 
fitries. 


Eriphyle  (er-if 'i-le),  wife  of  Amphlaraus, 
207,  214. 

Eris  (er'is)  (Strife),  44,  47,  228,  232. 

Eros  (er'os)  (Cupid),  39. 

Erymanthian  (er  -  i  -  man '  thi  an)  Boar, 
the,  104. 

Erysichthon  (er-i-sik'thon),  legend  of, 
222. 

Erythia  (er-i-thl'a),  island  of  the  west, 
107. 

Eteocles  (e-te'o-klez),  son  of  CEdipus, 
203. 

Ethiopians  (e-thi-o'pi-anz),  the,  21,  80, 
243.  321. 

Etna  (et'na),  Mt.,  16,  43,  123. 

Euhemerus  (u-he'mer-us),  58. 

Eumseus  (u-me'us),  the  faithful  swine- 
herd, 333,  352. 

Eumenides  (u-men'i-dez),  the,  54. 

Eunomia  (u-no'mi-a)  (good  order),  53. 

Euphrosyne  (u-fros'in-e),  one  of  the 
Graces,  40. 

Euripides  (u-rip'i-dez),  24. 

Euripus  (u-rl'pus),  strait  between  Euboea 
and  mainland,  234. 

Europa  (u-ro'pa),  abducted  by  Zeus,  192, 

Eurus  (u'rus),  the  east  wind,  53. 

Eurycleia  (u-ri-klei'a),  nurse  of  Odys- 
seus, 349,  360. 

Eurydice  (u-rid'i-se),  127. 

Eurylochus  (u-ril'o-kus),  lieutenant  of 
Odysseus,  305,  315. 

Eurymachus  (u-rim'a-kus),  suitor  of 
Penelope,  346,  359. 

Eurynome  (u-rin'o-me),  consort  of  Zeus, 

30- 
Eurystheus  (u-ris'thus),  kinsman  of  Her- 

cules,  98,  102. 
Eurytus  (u'ri-tus),  famous  archer,  113. 
Euterpe  (u-ter'pe),  muse  of  lyric  poetry, 

34. 
Euxine  (uxln)  Sea  (the  Black  Sea),  21, 

67,  152,  290. 
Evadne  (e-vad'ne),  wife  of  Capaneus, 

213. 

Famine y  personified^  223. 


INDEX 


435 


Fate,  29. 

Fates,  the,  15,  54,  90. 
Faunus  (fau'nus).     See  Fan. 
Fire,  gift  of,  17. 
Fire-worship,  42. 
Flora  (flor'a),  53. 
Folklore,  2. 

Fortuna  (for-tu'na),  52. 
Funeral  rites  of  Greece,  27. 
Furies,  the,  27,  54,  129,  289,  &c. 

Gades  (ga'dez),  straits  of  Gibraltar,  107. 
Gaea  (ge'a),  the  earth-spirit,  14,  41,  109. 
Galatea  (ga-la-te'a),  beloved  by  Poly- 
phemus, 66c 

—  the  statue  of  Pygmalion,  121. 
Galatia   (ga-la'shi-a),  Gaulish  invaders 

of,  28. 
Games  of  ancient  Greece,  61. 
Ganymede  (gan'i-med),  29,  381. 
Garden  of  the  Hesperides,  the,  80,  109. 

—  of  Proserpine,  the,  26. 
Ge  (je  or  ge).     See  Gaa. 
Gemini  (jem'in-1),  the,  57. 
Genius  (je'ni-us),  each  man's,  52. 
Geryon  (jer'i-on),  the  giant,  107. 
Gibraltar.     See  Pillars  of  Hercules, 
Girdle  of  Aphrodite,  the,  38,  257. 
Hippolyte,  106. 

Glauce  (glau'se),  bride  of  Jason,  168. 
Glaucus  (glauTcus),  grandson  of  Bellero- 
phon,  249. 

—  son  of  Sisyphus,  139. 

—  the  sea-god,  47,  156. 
Golden  Age,  the,  18. 

Golden  apples  of  Strife,  the,  227. 

■ the  Hesperides,  80,  109. 

Golden  Fleece,  the,  151. 
Gorgons  (gor'gonz),  the,  76. 
Grrgon^s  blood,  poisonous,  175. 
Graces,  the,  40,  383. 
Graise  (gri'e),  sisters,  54,  77. 
Graii(gra'i),originoftheGrecianname,7. 
Greece,  5, 

Hades  (ha'dez),  2%  48,  ill,  128,  309, 
381.  398.  &o 


Haemon  (he'mon),  lover  of  Antigone, 

211. 
Halcyone    (hal-si'on-e),    48    {halcyon 

calms). 
Hamadryads    (ham  -  a  -  dri'adz).       See 

Dryads. 
Harmonia  (har-mon'i-a),  wife  of  Cad- 
mus, 196. 
Harpies  (har'piz),  the,  156^ 
Head  of  Medusa,  the,  76. 
Hebe  (he'be),  32,  1 16. 
Hecate  (hek'a-te),  48. 
Hector  (hek'tor),   champion  of  Troy, 

226,  245,  249,  265. 
Hecuba  (hek'u-ba),  wife  of  Priam,  226, 

278. 
Heel  of  Achilles,  the,  270. 
Heirlooms  of  Thebes,  the  fatal,  196,  207, 

214. 
Helen  (hel'en),  56,  67,.  229,  246,  249, 

268,  279,  282,  320,  &c. 
Helicon  (hel'i-kon),  Mt.,  34. 
Helios  (he'li-os),  the  Sun-god,  33. 
Hellas  (hel'las),  7. 
Helle  (hel'le),  151. 

Hellen  (hel'len),  fabulous  ancestor,  7. 
Hellenes  (hel-le'nez),  the,  7. 
Hellespont  (hel'les-pont),  the,  68,  1 51, 

Z67,  422. 
Helmet  of  invisibility,  the,  77. 
Hephsestus  (he-fes'tus)  (Vulcan),  40,  42, 

243,  261. 
Hera  (he'ra)  (Juno),    15,    30,    31,   98, 

150,  228,  243,  &c. 
Heracles  (he'ra-kles).     See  Hercules. 
Heraclidae  (he-ra-kli'de),  66,  117. 
Hercules  (her'ku-lez),  66,  98,  119,  153, 

177,  183,  226,  312. 
—  Pillars  of,  21. 
Hermes  (her'mez)  (Mercury),  44,  227, 

307,  321,  417,  &c. 
Hermione    (her-mi'o-ne),    daughter   of 

Menelaus,  230. 
Hero  and  Leander  (he'ro,  le-an'der),  367. 
Herodotus  (he-rod'o-tus),  history  06 

12,  21,  63 
Heroes  oflege,idt  56. 


436 


INDEX 


Heroic  age^  the,  19. 

Herse   (her'se),   daughter  of  Cecrops, 

45. 
Hesiod  (hes'i-od),  10,  14,  17,  18. 
Hesione  (he-si'o-ne),  princess  of  Troy, 

226. 
Hesperides    (hes-per'i-dez),   garden    of 

the,  109. 
—  islands  of  the  west,  21. 
Hesperus  (hes'per-us),  the  evening  star, 

53,  396. 
Hestia  (hes'ti-a)  (Vesta),  15. 
Hiawatha  (hi-a-wath'a),  58. 
Hippolyte  (hip-pol'i-te),  queen  of  the 

Amazons,  106,  187. 
Hippolytus     (hip-pol'i-tus),     son     of 

Theseus,  187. 
Hippomedon(hip-pom'e-don),  champion 

against  Thebes,  207. 
Hippomenes  (hip-pom'en-ez),  lover  of 

Atalanta  (his  name  Milcnion  in  other 

versions),  96. 
Homer  (hom'er),   10,   12,   14,  24,  26, 

60,  &c. 
Horae  (hor'e)  (the  Seasons),  53,  69. 
Horses  of  the  Sun,  the,  71, 
Hyacinthus  (hl-a-sin'thus),  35. 
Hydra  (hi'dra),  the  Lernean,  103. 
Hygeia  (hi-ji'a),  33. 
Hylas  (hi'las),  page  of  Hercules,  155. 
Hymen  (hi'men),  40. 
Hyperborean  (hl-per-bor'e-an)  Sea,  the. 

Hyperboreans  (hl-per-bor'e-anz),  21. 
Hyperion    (hl-pe'ri-on  or   h!-per-i'on), 
Apollo  as  Sun-god,  33,  34,  315. 

lapetus  (i-ap'e-tus),  brother  of  Cronos, 

16. 
lasos  (i-as'os),  father  of  Atalanta,  95. 
Iberians  (i-ber'i-anz),  the,  22. 
Ibycus  (i^Di-kus),  the  poet,  23. 
Icaria  (i-kar'i-a),  island,  183. 
Icarian  (I-kar'i-an)  Sea,  the,  183. 
Icarius  (i-kar'i-us),  an  Athenian,  50. 
Icarus  (i'ka-rus),  son  of  Daedalus,  183. 
Ida  (i'da),  Mt.,  near  Troy,  30,  226,  281 


Idmon  (id'mon),  one  of  the  Argonauts, 

157. 
Iliad,  the  (il'i-ad),  10,  68,  239,  268. 
Ilion  (iri-on).     See  Troy. 
Illyria  (il-lir'i-a),  21. 
Ilus  (i'lus),  Trojan  king,  225. 
Inachus  (in'a-kus),  king  of  Argos,  32. 
Infernal  regions,  the,  25. 
Inhumation,  practice  of,  28. 
Ino  (I'no),   daughter  of  Cadmus,   151, 

196,  323- 
lo  (i'o),  daughter  of  Inachus,  32. 
lobates  (i-ob'a-tez),  king  of  Lycia,  14a 
lolaus  (i-o-la'us),  nephew  of  Hercules, 

103,  117. 
lolcos  (i-ol'kos),  Jason's  birthplace,  148. 
lole  (i'o-le),  wooed  by  Hercules,  113. 
Ion  (i'on),  mythical  ancestor  of  lonians, 

173- 
Ionian  (I-on'i-an)  colonies,  6. 
Ion  ian  philosophy,  1 1 . 
lonians  (I-on'i-anz),  mythical  origin  of 

the,  176. 
Iphigenia    (i-fi-jen-i'a),    daughter    of 

Agamemnon,  234,  290. 
Iphitus  (I'fi-tus),  friend  of  Hercules,  113- 
Irene  (I-re'ne)  (Peace),  53. 
Iris  (i'ris),  the  rainbow,  messenger  of 

Olympus,  31,  257. 
Irott  Age,  the,  19. 
Irus  (i'rus),  the  beggar,  343. 
Isis  (I'sis),  Egyptian  goddess,  50. 
Ismene  (is-me'ne),  daughter  of  CEdipus, 

203. 
Isthmian  (is'mi-an)  games,  the,  61. 
Isthmus  (is'mus)  of  Corinth,  the,  46, 

179. 
Italy  (it'a-li),  7,  281. 
Ithaca  (ith'a-ka),  island  home  of  Odys- 
seus, 231,  296,  330. 
Itylus  (it'i-lus),  son  of  Aldon,  66. 
Itys  (i'tis),  son  of  Tereus,  188. 
lulus  (i-u'lus),  son  of  ^neas,  279. 
Ixion   (ix-i'on),   king  of  the  Lapithse. 

punished  in  Hades,  128. 

Janus  (ja'nus),  52. 


INDEX 


437 


Jason  (ja'son),  147. 

Jocasta  (jo-kas'ta)j  mother  of  CEdipus, 

200. 
Joppa  (jop'pa),  84. 
Jove,  31.     See  Zeus, 
jfudgment  of  Paris ^  the^  228. 
Juno  (ju'no),  33.     See  Hera. 
Jupiter  (ju'pit-er),  29,  31.     See  Zeus. 
Jupiter- Ammon,  31,  58,  81. 

Ker  (ker),  ministering  spirit,  52. 

Labours  of  Hercules ^  tJie,  loi. 
Labyrinth,  the  Minotaur's  (lab'i-rinth, 

mi'no-taur),  183. 
Lacedsemon  (la-se-de'mon).  See  Sparta. 
Lachesis  (lak'e-sis),  a  Fate,  54,  399. 
Laertes  (la-er'tez),  father  of  Odysseus, 

318,  363. 
Lsestrygonians    (les-tri-go'ni-anz),    can- 
nibal giants,  305. 
Laius  (li'us),  king  of  Thebes,  200. 
Lamise  (lam'i-e),  52= 
Laocoon  (la-ok'o-on)  and  his  sons,  273. 
Laodamas  (la-od'a-mas),  son  of  Eteocles, 

214. 
Laodamia  (la-od-a-mi'a),  wife  of  Pro- 

tesilaus,  237,  417. 
Laomedon  (la-om'e-don),  king  of  Troy, 

107,  225. 
Lapithse  (lap'i-the),  fabulous  people  of 

Thessaly,  said  to  have  invented  the 

bridling  of  horses,  1 1 1. 
Lares  (lar'ez),  52. 

Larissa  (la-ris'sa),  city  of  Thessaly,  85. 
Larvse  (lar've),  52. 
Latin  mythology,  7,  29. 
Latinus  (la-tin'us),  King,  281. 
Latmus  (lat'mus),  Mt.,  in  Caria,  36. 
Latona  (la-ton'a),  33.     See  Leto. 
Lavinia  (la-vin'i-a),  281. 
Law  of  Triptolemus,  the,  41. 
Leander  (le-an'der),  367. 
Leda  (le'da),  mother  of  Helen,  56. 
Leiodes  (lei'o-dez),  suitor  of  Penelope, 

356,  360. 
Lcmnos  (lem'nos),  42,  154,  VJ\. 


Lemures  (lem'u-r€z),  52. 

Lerna  (ler'na),  haunt  of  the  Hydra,  103. 

Lesbos  (les'bos),  island,  131,  393. 

Lethe  (le'the),  water  of,  27,  402. 

Leto  (le'to),  consort  of  Zeus,  30,  33,  198. 

Leucothea  (lu-koth'e-a),  sea-nymph,  323, 

Libitina  (lib-i-ti'na),  52. 

Libya  (lib'i-a),  no,  167. 

Linus  (ll'nus),  master  of  music,  99. 

Lion,  the  Nemean,  102. 

Lotos-eaters  (lo'tos),  the,  297. 

Lover's  Leap,  the,  393. 

Lucian  (lu'si-an),  9,  13,  27,  46,  51. 

Lucina  (lu-sl'na),  52. 

Lycaon  (li-ka'on).  Arcadian  king,  30. 

Lycia  (lis'i-a),  country  in  Asia  Minor, 

140. 
Lycurgus  (li-kur'gus),  king  of  Thrace, 

49. 
Lycus  (li'kus),  a  king  of  Asia,  157. 
—  usurper  of  Thebes,  197. 
Lyda  (ll'da),  a  nymph,  221. 
Lydia  (lid'i-a),  country  in  Asia  Minor, 

114. 
Lynceus  (lin'sus),  pilot  of  the  Argo,  153. 
Lyre,  invention  of  the,  45,  60. 

Macaria  (ma-kar'i-a),  daughter  of  Her- 
cules, 117. 

Maenads  (me'nadz),  the,  49,  131. 

Msera  (me'ra),  dog  of  Erigone,  5a 

Magna  Grsecia,  7. 

Maia  (mi'a),  mother  of  Hermes,  44. 

Manes  (ma'nez),  52. 

Marathon  (ma'ra-thon),  55,  57,  182. 

Mares  of  Diomedes,  the,  106. 

Mars,  44,  &c.     See  Ares. 

Marsyas  (mar'si-as),  35. 

Matriarchal  deities,  9. 

Mausoleum  (mau-so-le'um),  tomb  of 
Mausolus,  28. 

Max  Mailer's  school  of  mythology,  4. 

Medea  (me-de'a),  158,  165,  181. 

Mediterranean  (med-i-ter-a'ne-an)  Sea, 
the,  2,  21. 

Medon  (med'on),  a  herald,  36a 

Medusa  (me-du'sa),  76,  ii|. 


438 


INDEX 


Megaera  (me-ge'ra),  a  Fury,  54. 
Megapenthes  (meg-a-pen'thez),  a  tyrant, 

27. 
Megara  (meg'a-ra),  birthplace  of  Euclid, 

136,  179. 
—  wife  of  Hercules,  loi,  113. 
Melanthius    (mel-an'thi-us),    the   goat- 
herd, 339,  352,  359. 
Meleager  (mel-e-a'jer),  90,  iii. 
Melpomene    (mel-pom'en-e),    muse    of 

tragedy,  34. 
Memnon  (mem'non),  269. 
Memphis  (mem'fis),  32,  393. 
Menelaus  (men-e-la'us),  king  of  Sparta, 

229,  245,  320. 
Menceceus  (men-e'sus),  son  of  Creon, 

208 
Mentor    (men'tor),   guardian  of   Tele- 

machus,  320. 
Mercury,  46,  &c.     See  Hermes. 
Merope    (mer'o-pe),    foster-mother    of 

CEdipus,  200. 
Metamorphoses  of  Ovid^  13,  19. 
Metis  (me'tis),  consort  of  Zeus,  30. 
Midas  (mi'das),  king  of  Phrygia,  132. 
Milo  (mi'lo  or  mi'lo)  of  Croton,  64. 
Minerva    (mi-ner'va),    38,    &c.      See 

Athene. 
Minos  (mi'nos),  judge  in  Hades,  27, 

54,  65,  312. 
-  kings  of  Crete,  65,  106,  136,  182. 
Minotaur  (mi'no-taur),  the,  182. 
Mnemosyne    (ne-mos'i-ne)    (Memory), 

30. 

Moirae  (moir'e).     See  Fates. 

Moiy,  a  magic  herby  "yyj. 

Momus  (mo'mus),  51. 

Morpheus  (mor'fus),  53. 

Muses,  the,  34,  131,  134,  383- 

Music  of  the  Spheres^  the^  399. 

Mycenae  (mi-se'ne),  city  of  Argolis,  6, 

86,  284. 
Myrmidons  (mir'mi-donz),  the  followers 

of  Achilles,  233,  255. 
Mysia   (miz'i-a),    north-west  corner  of 

Asia  Minor,  155. 
Mythsy  origin  of  I. 


Naiads  (na'i-adz),  55. 

Narcissus  (nar-sis'sus),  218. 

Nativity  of  Christy  the^  56. 

Nature  myths,  4. 

Nausicaa    (nau-si'ka-a),    daughter    oi 

Alcinous,  324. 
Naxos  (nax'os),  isle  of,  50,  186. 
Necessity y  personifiedy  399. 
Nectar f  drink  of  the  godsy  33,  383. 
Nemean  GameSy  the  (ne-me'an),  61. 
Nemean  liony  they  102. 
Nemesis  (nem'e-sis),  52,  213. 
Neoptolemus  (ne-op-tol'e-mus),  Pyrrhus, 

son  of  Achilles,  271,  278. 
Neptune,  46,  &c.     See  Poseidon. 
Nereids  (ne're-idz),  the,  47,  81,  192. 
Nereus  (ne'rus),  sea-god,  47,  109,  230. 
Nessus  (nes'sus),  the  Centaur,  115. 
Nestor  (nes'tor),  242,  320. 
Night,  daughters  of,  109. 
Nightingale y  myth  of  Philomela,  191. 
Nike  (ni'ke)  (Victory),  52. 
Nile,  river,  80. 
Ninus  (ni'nus),  tomb  of,  169. 
Niobe  (nl'o-be),  35,  66,  197. 
Nisus  (ni'sus),  king  of  Megara,  136. 
Nomany  a/zax  of  Odysseus,  301. 
Notus  (no'tus),  the  south  wind,  53. 
Nymphs  (nimfz),  55. 

Oceanides  (o-se-an'i-dez),  47. 

Oceanus  (o-se'an-us),  20,  309. 

—  the  sea  deity,  47. 

Odysseus  (o-dis'us),  231,  244,  272,  274* 

296-366,  401. 
Odyssey  (od'i-si),  the,  10,  68,  296-364. 
CEdipus  (e'di-pus),  200. 
Oinone  (e-no'ne),  wife  of  Paris,  227, 

282. 
Ogygia    (6-jij'i-a),   island    of    Olypso, 

317. 
Oineus  (oi'nus),  king  of  Calydon,  90. 
Olivcy  they  boon  of  Atheney  37. 
Olympia  (o-lim'pi-a),  31,  33,  63. 
Olympiads,  used  as  dates  (o-lim'pi-adz), 

62. 
Olympic  Games,  the,  61. 


INDEX 


439 


Olympus   (o-lim'pus),    focus   of   Greek 

religion,  8,  12,  &c. 
—  mountain  of  Thessaly,  16,  22. 
Omens,  24,  342,  351,  353. 
Omphale  (om'fa-le),   queen   of  Lydia, 

114. 
Oracles,  22. 
Orbis  terrarum  (or'bis  ter-ar'um),  ihe^ 

20. 
Orcus  (or'kus),  48. 
Oreads  (or'e-adz),  55,  223. 
Orestes  (o-res'tez),  brother  of  Iphigenia, 

23s.  285,  292. 
Orion  (6-rI'on),  36,  312. 
Oroetes  (o-re'tez),  Persian  satrap,  386. 
Orpheus  (or'fus),  II,  127,  153,  401. 
Orphic  teaching  in  Greek  religion,  ii. 
Orthrus  (or'thrus),  two-headed  dog,  107. 
Ortygia  (or-tij'i-a),  island  near  Syracuse, 

124,  426. 
Othrys  (oth'ris),  Mts.,  16. 
Ovid,  13,  19,  45. 
Owls  at  Athens^  38. 

Pactolus  (pak-to'lus),  golden  river,  134. 
Palace  of  Alcinous,  the,  326. 
Palamedes  (pal-a-me'dez),  231,  274. 
Palladium  (pal-lad'i-um),  the,  of  Troy, 

225,  271. 
Pallantids  (pal-lan'tids),  the,  177,  181. 
Pallas  (pal'las),  brother  of  ^geus,  177. 
Pallas- Athene  (pal'las-a-the'ne),  37,  &c. 

See  Athene. 
Pamphylia  (pam-fil'i-a),  country  in  Asia 

Minor,  398. 
Pan,  55,  134,  221. 
Panathenaic  Games,  the,  60,  61. 
Pancration  (pan-krat'i-on),  the,  63. 
Pandarus  (pan'dar-us),  an  archer,  248. 
Pandemian    Aphrodite   (pan-de'mi-an 

a-fro-dl'te),  40. 
Pandion  (pan-di'on),  mythical  king  of 

Athens.  173,  188. 
Pandora  (pan-do'ra),  17. 
Panhellenic  (pan-hel-len'ik)  gatherings, 

61. 
Pantheon  (pan'the-on),  the,  10,  28. 


Paphos  (pa'fos),  temple  of  Aphrodite  at, 

38,  369. 
Parcse  (par'se),  54.     See  Fates. 
Paris  (par'is),  son  of  Priam,  226,  245, 

249,  281,  &c. 
Parnassus  (par-nas'sus),  Mt.,  15,  20,  22, 

34. 
Parthenon  (par'then-on),  the,  37, 
Parthenopseus  (par-then-o-pe'us),  cham- 
pion against  Thebes,  207. 
Patroclus  (pa-trok'lus),    28,  68,    242, 

258. 
Pausanias  (pau-san'i-as),  13,  44,  52,  58, 

63,  191- 
Peacock,  attenaant  oj  Hera,  32= 
Pegasus  (peg'a-sus),  140, 
Peirithous  (pl-rith'o-us),  III. 
Pelasgians  (pel-as'ji-anz),  the,  5. 
Peleus  (pe'lus),  father  of  Achilles,  153, 

228. 
Pelias  (pel'i-as),  usurper  of  lolcos,  148. 
—  daughters  of,  168. 
Pelides  (pe-li'dez).     See  Achilles. 
Pelion  (pe'li-on),  Mt.,  147. 
Peloponnesus  (pel-o-pon-ne'sus),  the,  6, 

66,  117,  231. 
Pelops  (pel'ops),  65. 
Penances  of  Hades,  25,   ill,  128,  312, 

399- 
Penates  (pen-a'tez),  52. 
Penelope  (pen-el'o-pe),  231,  296,  318, 

345.  348,  361. 
Peneus  (pe-ne'us),  river,  105. 
Pentathlon  (pen-tath'lon),  contest,  the, 

63. 

Penthesilea  (pen-thes-i-le'a),  Amazon 
queen,  268. 

Pentheus  (pen'thus),  king  of  Thebes, 
49,  196. 

Pergamum  (per'ga-mum).     See  Troy. 

Periander(per-i-an'der),  king  of  Corinth, 
144. 

Pericles  (per'i-klez),  12.  , 

Periphetes  (per-i-fe'tez),  the  "club- 
bearer",  178. 

Persephone  (per-sefo-ne),  39,  41,  4^ 
123. 


44° 


INDEX 


Perseus  (per'sus),  67,  75. 

Persian  invasion  of  GreecCy  II. 

Personification y  I,  53. 

Phaeacians  (fe-ash'i-anz),  the,  324. 

Phaedra  (fe'dra),  stepmother  of  Hip- 
poly  tus,  187. 

Phaethon  (fa'e-thon),  69. 

Phaon  (fa'on),  beloved  of  Sappho,  393. 

Phasis  (fa'sis),  river  of  Colchis,  158. 

Phegeus  (fe'jus),  a  king  of  Arcadia,  215. 

Phemius  (fem'i-us),  a  bard,  suitor  of 
Penelope,  360. 

Phidias  (f!d'i-as),  the  sculptor,  12,  31, 

63. 
Philemon  and  Baucis  (fil-e'mon,  bau'- 

sis),  30. 
Philoctetes  (fH-ok-te'tez),  68,  116,  271. 
Philoetius  (fil-e'ti-us),  the  Ithacan  herd, 

352. 
Philomela  (fil-o-me'la),  66,  188. 
Phineus(fi'nus),  the  blind  king,  83,  156. 
Phintias  (fin'ti-as).     See  Pythias. 
Phlegethon  (fleg'e-thon),  river  of  fire, 

25,  310. 
Phoebus- Apollo  (fe'bus-a-pol'lo.     See 

Apollo. 
Phoenicia  (fe-nish'i-a),  mythical  origin 

of,  193. 
Phoenicians  (fe-nish'i-anz),  the,  21. 
Phoenix  (fe'nix),  brother  of  Cadmus,  193. 

—  tutor  of  Achilles,  255. 
Pholus  (fol'us),  the  Centaur,  104. 
Phorcys  (for'sis).  Sea-god,  315. 
Phosphorus    (fos'for-us),    the    morning 

star,  53. 
Phrixus  (frix'us),  brother  of  Helle,  151. 

—  sons  of,  157. 

Phrygia  (frij'i-a),  country  in  Asia  Minor, 

132. 
Phthia  (fthl'a  or  thi'a),   in    Thessaly, 

home  of  Achilles,  241. 
Phyleus  (firus),  son  of  Augeas,  105. 
Phyllis  (fil'lis),  a  Thracian  maiden,  222. 
Pierides  (pi-er'i-dez),  the,  transformed 

to  birds,  134. 
Pillars  of  Hercules,  the,  22,  107. 
Pindar  (pin'dar),  the  poet,  34,  59. 


Pisa  (pi'sa;,  city  near  Olympia,  61. 
Pisistratus     (pi-sis'tra-tus),     rulet    oi 
Athens,  60. 

—  son  of  Nestor,  320. 

Pittheus  (pit'thus),  king  of  Troezen,  177. 
Plato  (pla'to),  12,  27,  40,  58,  398. 
Pleiades  (plei'a-dez),    the  daughter  cf 

Atlas,  36. 
Plutarch  (plu'tark),  65,  186. 
Pluto  (plu'to),  15,  48,  III,  123. 
Plutus  (plu'tus),  51. 
Podarches  (po-dar'kes),  alias  of  Priam 

226. 
Polites  (po-li'tes),  son  of  Priam,  278. 
Pollux  (pol'lux),  56,  153,  247. 
Polybus  (pol'i-bus),  king  of  Corinth,  200. 
Polycrates   (po  -  lik '  ra  -  tez),    tyrant   0/ 

Samos,  384. 
Polydectes    (po  -  li  -  dek '  tez),    ruler   ol 

Seriphos,  76. 
Polydeuces  (po-li-du'sez).     See  Pollux. 
Polymnia  (po-lim'ni-a),  muse  of  sublime 

hymns,  34. 
Polynices  (po-li-ni'sez),  brother  of  An- 
tigone, 28,  203. 
Polyphemus  (po-li-fem'us),  companion 

of  Hercules,  155. 

—  the  Cyclops,  66,  298. 
Pomona  (p6-m6'na),  53. 

Pontus  (pon'tus),  the,  157.  See  £uxine. 
Poseidon  (po-si'don),   15,  37,  46,  173, 

224,  225,  257,  269,  283,  303,  322,331. 
Praxiteles  (prax-it'el-ez),   the  sculptor, 

46. 
Priam  (pri'am),  king  of  Troy,  226,  246, 

267. 
Priapus  (pri-a'pus),  51. 
Procne  (prok'ne),  daughter  of  Pandion, 

188. 
Procris  (prok'ris),  bride   of  Cephalus, 

413. 

Procrustes  (pro-krus'tez),  the  "Stretch- 
er", 180. 

Proetus  (pre'tus),  king  of  Argos,  139. 

Prometheus  (pro-me'thus),  16,  109,  158. 

Propontis  (pro  -  pon '  tis)  (the  Sea  ol 
Marmora),  154. 


INDEX 


441 


Proserpine  (pro'ser-pin).     See   Perse- 
phone. 
Protagoras  (pro-tag'o-ras),  the  sophist, 

12. 
Protesilaus    (pro-tes'i-la-us),    the    first 

Greek  killed  before  Troy,  237,  417. 
Proteus  (pro'tus),  47,  320. 
Prytaneum   (prit-an-e'um),   in   Greek 

cities,  42. 
Psyche  (si'ke  or  psi'ke),  40,  369. 
Pygmalion  (pig-mal'i-on),  the  sculptor, 

121. 
Pygmies ^  21. 
Pylades  (pil'a-dez),  friend  of  Orestes, 

286,  292. 
Pyramus  and  Thisbe  (pir'a-mus,  this'be), 

169. 
Pyrrha  (pir'ra),  20. 
"  Pyrrhic  Victory",  a,  209. 
Pyrrhus  (pir'rus).     See  Neoptolemus. 
Pythagoras  (p!-thag'o-ras),  ii,  12. 
Pythia  (pith'i-a),  the  priestess  of  Delphi, 

173. 
Pythian  Games ^  the,  61, 
Pythias  (pith'i-as),  friend  of  Damon,  403. 
Pytho  (pi'thS),  shrine  of.     See  Delphi 
Python  (pi'th5n),  the,  33. 

Quirinus  (qui-ri'nus),  44. 

Race^  Atalanta^Sy  95. 
P ape  0/  Persephone,  the,  123. 
Remus  (re'mus),  44,  58. 
Rhadamanthus  (rad-a-man'thus),  27,  54. 
Rhampsinitus  (ram-sin-i'tus),  king  of 

Egypt,  390. 
Rhapsodists,  the,  60. 
Rhea  (re'a).     See  Cybele. 
Rhodes  (rodz),  34. 
Rhodope  (rod'o-pe),  Mt.,  127. 
Rhodopis  (rod'o-pis),  393. 
Rhoecus  (re'kus),  408. 
Ring  of  Poly  crates,  the,  384. 
Roman  poets,  influence  of,  on  the  Middle 

Agest  29. 
Rome,  foundation  of,  281. 
Romulus  (rom'u-lus),  44,  58, 


Sacred  Oak,  the,  222. 

Sahara  (sa-ha'ra)  desert,  the,  73,  79. 

Salamis  (sal'a-mis),  island  near  Athens, 

226. 
Salmoneus  (sal-m6'nus),  king  of  Elis, 

31. 
Samos  (sa'mos),  Ionian  island,  33,  384. 
Sappho  (saf'fo),  393. 
Sardis  (sar'dis),  capital  of  Lydia,  387. 
Sarmatia  (sar-mash'i-a),  21. 
Saturn  (sa'turn).     See  Cronos. 
ScUiirnalia  (sa-tur-na'li-a),  the,  49. 
Saturnian  Age,  the,  18. 
Satyrs  (sat'irz),  49,  55,  221. 
Scamander  (ska-man'der),  river  of  Troy, 

225,  238,  263. 
Sceiron  (ski'ron),  a  giant,  179. 
Scheria  (sker'i-a),  island  of  the  Phae- 

acians,  324. 
Scylla  (sil'la),  daughter  of  Minos,  136. 
—  the  monster,  47,  138,  314. 
Scyros  (si'ros),  island  in  the  ^gean,  232. 
Scythia  (sith'i-a),  21. 
Scythian  Chersonese,  the,  290. 
Seasons,  the,  39,  53,  69,  383. 
Semele  (sem'e-le),  mother  ot  Dionysus, 

30,  196. 
Serapis  (se-ra'pis),  Egyptian  deity,  50. 
Seriphos  (se-ri'fos),  ^gean  island,  75. 
Serpent  veneration,  9. 
Sestos  (ses'tos),  town  on  the  Hellespont, 

367. 
^^ Seven  against  Thebes",  the,  206. 
Seven  wonders  of  the  world,  the,  31. 
Shades,  kingdom  of  the,  25,  III,  &c. 

See  Hades. 
Shirt  of  Nessus,  the,  116. 
Sicily  (sis'i-li),  123,  315. 
Silenus  (si-le'nus),  companion  of  Diony* 

sus,  49,  132. 
Silver  Age,  the,  18. 
Simois  (si'mo-is),  river  of  Troy,  238, 

263. 
Simonides  (si-mon'i-dez),  poet,  61. 
Sinis  (sin'is),  the  "pine  bender",  179. 
Sinon  (si'non),  the  betrayer  of  Troy, 

273- 


442 


INDEX 


Sirens  (si'renz),  the,  313,  399. 

Sisters  of  Psyche ^  the,  373. 

Sisyphus  (sis'i-fus),  king  of  Corinth,  128, 
139,  312. 

Sky-gods,  9. 

Sleep,  personified,  52. 

Smintheus  (smin'thus)  (Apollo),  34. 

Socrates  (sok'ra-tez),  24. 

Solar  myths,  3. 

Solon's  visit  to  Croesus,  387. 

Solymi  (so'li-mi),  a  race  of  robbers,  142. 

Sparta  (spar'ta),  36,  44,  320,  285. 

Speaking  oak  of  Dodona,  the,  153. 

Sphinx  (sfingks),  the,  202. 

Spindle  of  Fate,  the,  399. 

Statues,  31,  63. 

Stentor  (sten'tor),  loud-voiced  Greek, 
248. 

Stesichorus  (ste-sik'o-rus),  the  poet,  60. 

Sthenelus  (sthen'e-lus),  friend  of  Dio- 
mede,  254. 

Strophius  (strofi-us),  king  of  Phocis, 
286. 

Stymphalides  (stim-fari-dez),  arrow- 
feathered  birds  of  Lake  Stymphalis, 

loS,  157. 
Styx  (stix),  infernal  river,  25,  128,  232, 

310. 
—  Oath  by  the,  70,  321. 
Stiitors  of  Penelope,  the,  318,  353,  360. 
Sun,  chariot  of  the,  70. 
Symplegades   (sim-pleg'a-dez),   floating 

islands,  156. 
Syracuse  (sir'a-kuz),  403. 
Syrinx  (si'rinx),  nymph  turned  to  reed, 

55- 

Taenarum  (te'nar-um),  gate  of  Hades, 

III,  146. 
Talus  (ta'lus),  brazen  giant  of  Crete,  167. 
Tantalus  (tan'ta-lus),  65,  128,  312. 
Tartarus  (tar'tar-us),  16,  25. 
Tauris  (tau'ris),  seat  of  Diana's  worship, 

36,  237,  289. 
Taurus  (tau'rus),  Mts.,  21. 
Telamon     (tel'a-mon),     husband    of 

Hesione,  226. 


Telemachus  (te-lem'a-kus),  son  of  Odys- 
seus,  231,  296,  318,  336. 

Telephassa  (tel-e-fas'sa),  mother  of  Cad- 
mus, 183. 

Temples,  28. 

Tenedos  (ten'e-dos),  island  near  Troy, 
272. 

Ten  Thousand,  retreat  of  the,  25. 

Tereus  (te'rus),  a  king  of  Thrace,  188. 

Terminus  (ter'min-us),  52. 

Terpander  (ter  -  pan '  der),  inventor  of 
lyre,  60. 

Terpsichore  (terp-sik'o-re),  muse  of  the 
dance,  34. 

Teucer  (tu'ser),  Mysian  king,  225. 

—  a  descendant,  233. 

—  brother  of  Ajax,  257. 

Thales  (tha'lez),  the  philosopher,  24. 
Thalia  (tha-li'a),   one  of  the   Graces, 
40. 

—  the  muse  of  Comedy,  34. 
Thamyris  (tham'i-ris),  a  blind  bard,  401, 
Theagenes  (the-aj'en-ez),  athlete,  64. 
Thebes  (thebz)  (Egypt),  196. 

—  (Greece),  66,  loi,  196,  200. 
Themis  (them'is),  20,  30,  33,  52. 
Theoclymenus  (the-o-klim'en-us),  a  seer, 

354. 
Theocritus  (the-ok'ri-tus),  the  poet,  13, 
Theogony  of  Greece,  14,  27. 
Thersander  (ther-san'der),  son  of  Poly- 

nices,  214. 
Thersites  (ther-sl'tez),  the  reviler,  244, 

269,  401. 
Theseus  (the'sus),  65,   III,   153,   177, 

206,  213. 
Thessaly  (thes'a-li),  16. 
Thestiades  (thes-ti'a-dez),  the  brothers 

of  Althaea,  93. 
Thetis  (thet'is),  mother  of  Achilles,  47, 

228,  243,  261. 
Thisbe  (thisTae),  maid  of  Babylon,  169. 
Thoas  (tho'as),  king  of  Tauris,  291. 
Thrace  (thras),  21,  131,  188. 
Thucydides  (thu-sid'i-dez),  the  historian, 

12,  24. 
Thunderer,  the,  epithet  of  Zeus^  2% 


INDEX 


443 


Thyestes  (thl-es'te*),  brother  of  Atreus, 

284. 
Thyrsus  (thir'sus),  the,  49. 
Tiphys  (ti'fis),  steersman  of  f  he  Argo, 

153- 

Tiresias  (ti-re'si-as),  the  blind  prophet, 

67,  99,  204,  218,  311. 
Tiryns  (ti'rinz),  ancient  city  of  Argolis, 

66,  86. 
L       Tisiphone  (ti-sifo-ne),  a  Fury,  54. 
W^     TitaTiomachia  (ti-tan-o-mak'i-a),  the^  15. 
Titans  (ti'tanz),  the,  14,  15. 
Tithonus  (ti-tho'nus),  brother  of  Priam, 

269,  414. 
Tityus  (tit'i-us),  tormented  in  Hades, 

312. 
Totemisniy  3, 

Tragedies  of  Thebes ^  the,  192. 
Transmigration  of  soulSy   Pythagorean 

doctrine,  27. 
Treasury  of  RhampsinituSy  the,  390. 
Triads  in  mythology,  53. 
Trident  of  Neptune,  the,  46. 
Trinacria  (tri-nak'ri-a).     See  Sicily. 
Triptolemus    (trip-tol'e-mus),    nursling 

of  Demeter,  41,  126. 
Triton  (tri'ton),  47. 
Tritons  (tri'tonz),  192. 
Trcezen  (tre'zen),  a  seaport  ot  Argolis, 

177. 
Trophonius  (tro-fo'ni-us),  cave  of,  23. 
Tros  (tros),  grandson  of  Dardanus,  225. 
Troy,  dT,  107,  225,  238,  329,  &c. 
Turnus  (tur'nus),  rival  of  ^neas,  281. 
Twelve  Great  Gods,  the,  29. 
Tyche  (tiTce)  (Fortune),  51. 
Tydeus  (ti'dus),  brother  of  Meleager, 

206. 


Tyndareus  (tin'dar-us),  king  of  Sparta, 

57. 
Typhon  (ti'fon),  the  giant,  16. 
Tyre  (tir),  66,  192. 
Tyrtseus  (tir-te'us),  a  bard,  60. 

Ulysses  (u-lis'sez).     See  Odysseus, 
Urania  (u-ran'i-a),  muse  of  Astronomy, 

34- 
Uranian  Aphrodite,  the,  40. 
Uranus     (u'ran-us),     father    of    gods, 

14. 

Vegetation,  myths  of,  4. 

Venus  (ve'nus),  40,  &c.  See  Aphro- 
dite. 

Vertumnus  (ver-tum'nus),  53. 

Vesta  (ves'ta),  42,  &c.     See  Hestia, 

Vestal  Virgins,  the,  42. 

Vulcan  (vul'kan),  42,  &c.  See  Hephces- 
tus. 

Washings  Nausicadls,  324. 
Web  of  Penelope,  the,  319. 
Winds,  island  of  the,  304. 
Wooden  Horse  of  Troy^  the^  T.'JZ. 

Xenophon  (zen'o-fon),  24. 
Xuthus    (zu'thus),     king    of    Athens, 
173. 

Zephyrus  (zefi-rus),  the  west  wind,  53, 

267,  371. 
Zethus  (ze'thus),  brother  of  Amphion, 

197. 
Zeus  (zus)  (Jupiter),  15,  29,  75,  98,  192, 

243.  263,  381,  &c. 
Zodiac t  signs  of  tke^  53,  71. 


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